CASUAL  sy**  SEA 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 


GIFT  OF 

Estate  of 
Mary  Kingsley 


Ww/^&fl  YxmJI 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

THE  VOYAGE  OF  A  SOUL 


By  WILLIAM  McFEE 


GARDEN  CITY  NEW  YORK 

DOUBLEDAY,  PAGE  &  COMPANY 

1916 


DEDICATION 

To  those  who  live  and  toil  and  lowly  die, 

Who  pass  beyond  and  leave  no  lasting  trace, 
To  those  from  whom  our  queen  Prosperity 

Has  turned  away  her  fair  and  fickle  face; 
To  those  frail  craft  upon  the  restless  Sea 

Of  Human  Life,  who  strike  the  rocks  uncharted, 
Who  loom,  sad  phantoms,  near  us,  drearily, 

Storm-driven,  rudderless,  with  timbers  started; 
To  those  poor  Casuals  of  the  way-worn  earth, 

The  feckless  wastage  of  our  cunning  schemes, 
This  book  is  dedicate,  their  hidden  worth 

And  beauty  I  have  seen  in  vagrant  dreams! 
The  things  we  touch,  the  things  we  dimly  see, 

The  stiff  strange  tapestries  of  human  thought, 
The  silken  curtains  of  our  fantasy 

Are  with  their  sombre  histories  o'erwrought. 
And  yet  we  know  them  not,  our  skill  is  vain  to  find 
The  mute  soul's  agony,  the  visions  of  the  blind. 


V?7f' 


GIFT 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Book  One:     The  Suburb        ......./    ...     *     •       1 

Book  Two:     The  City 127 

Book  Three:     The  Sea    .      .     .«.    .•      •      •     ■•■•    >•      •      •   225 


Mb09C2iJ 


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in  2007  with  funding  from 

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http://www.archive.org/details/casualsofseavoyaOOmcferich 


BOOK  ONE 
THE  SUBURB 


Bringing  up  a  family  U  no  joke/ 


ABOUT  twenty  years  ago,  late  in  January,  snow  was 
falling  over  North  London.  It  fell  for  some  hours 
continuously ;  "  without  intermission "  the  Evening 
Star  said,  whose  sub-editor  lived  in  the  neighbour- 
hood ;  and  the  said  sub-editor  sent  his  nephew,  who  was  learning 
the  business,  to  the  British  Museum,  to  look  up  heavy  snow- 
falls from  1792  downwards.  And  by  teatime  the  whole  of  North 
London,  from  the  Manor  House  to  High  Barnet  Church,  from 
Hampstead  Heath  to  Enfield  Highway,  was  very  white  indeed. 

At  a  few  minutes  past  four  in  the  afternoon  the  triangular 
open  common  land,  which  is  now  the  correct  and  asphalted 
park  called  Trinity  Gardens,  Wood  Green,  was  deserted.  Save 
where  an  open  trench  for  pipes  bisected  it  like  a  black  knife- 
gash,  "  all  spotless  lay  the  untrodden  snow."  In  the  Trinity 
Road  Higher  Grade  Board  School,  which  fronted  this  blanket 
of  virginal  purity,  the  Sixth,  Seventh,  and  ex-Seventh  Standards 
were  receiving  their  weekly  spoonful  of  "  English,"  after  an 
exhausting  week  of  French,  German,  Chemistry,  Botany,  Electric- 
ity and  Magnetism,  Physiography,  Euclid,  Algebra,  Calisthenics 
and  the  Tonic-Sol-Fa  Method  of  Voice  Production.  The  Eng- 
lish tabloid  for  the  week  was  "  Hohenlinden,"  and  the  senior 
assistant  teacher,  who  cared  more  for  white  blood  corpuscles  and 
protoplasmic  continuity  than  belles-lettres,  misunderstood  the  ob- 
vious excitement  among  the  boys  massed  beneath  the  big  rostrum. 
Preoccupied  with  the  biological  difficulties  of  the  B.Sc.  Final,  he 
selected  Bert  Gooderich  to  stand  up  and  read  the  poem  through. 
Now  Bert  Gooderich  was  not  a  suitable  person  to  stand  up  and 
read  a  poem  through.  He  was  a  brown-haired,  black-eyed  youth 
of  fourteen  (nearly),  built  compactly,  and  solidly,  like  a  sack 
of  concrete  cement,  with  the  mouth  tied  up.  He  was  muscular, 
with  a  promise  of  lengthening  bone  and  deepening  chest.  His 
voice  had  broken  a  month  or  so  before.  His  round-barrelled 
calves  touched  .as  he  stood  with  his  feet  together.  Pulling  the 
London  School  Board  text-book  towards  him  he  held  a  blue  and 

3 


4  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

white  handkerchief  to  his  face.  He  wiped  his  nose,  slid  the 
half-dissolved  sugared-almond  dexterously  from  his  mouth,  re- 
placed the  handkerchief  in  his  pocket,  and  sniffed. 

"  On  —  on  Linden,  Wen  the  sahn  was  laow* 
Orl  spotless  lye  the  —  untrodden  snaow, 
An*  dawk  an'  wintry  was — the  —  flaow 
Of  —  1-ser  —  raollin'  rapidly." 

I  do  not  propose  to  spell  everything  Bert  says  with  the  above 
phonetic  accuracy.     But  that  is  how  he  talked. 

He  seemed  a  little  startled  by  the  peculiar  scanning  of  the 
last  line.  It  seemed  wrong  somehow,  left  him  with  a  chestful 
of  breath.  He  said  that  last  line  again,  to  make  sure.  He 
looked  out  of  the  corner  of  his  eye  at  the  grinning  comrades 
about  him  and  sniffed  impassively.  He  felt  under  no  obligation 
to  give  the  affair  of  Hohenlinden  any  further  notice. 

"  Eeser,  not  Iser,"  said  the  teacher  sharply.  "  I  heard  Mr. 
Talbot  tell  you  yesterday  that  i  in  German  is  pronounced  ee." 

Bert  Gooderich  looked  at  the  word  "  Iser  "  again.  There  it 
was  —  I-s-e-r.  If  that  wasn't  Eyser,  he  had  no  use  for  it.  Pos- 
sibly the  German  lesson  had  contained  something  like  that,  but 
Bert  had  been  preoccupied  with  a  young  Japanese  rat  in  a  con- 
densed milk-tin  which  Flying  Machine  Brown  had  shown  him 
under  the  desk. 

"  Begin  again,  Gooderich,"  said  the  teacher,  and  Gooderich 
began  again.  The  teacher  looked  at  the  clock.  All  the  boys 
save  Bert  did  the  same.  It  was  twenty-four  minutes  past  four. 
The  teacher  looked  at  his  watch,  and  those  boys  who  had  watches 
did  the  same,  surreptitiously.     Six  minutes  more,  and  then  — 

"On  Linden,  when  the  Sun  was  low, 
All  spotless  lay  the  untrodden  snow." 

The  teacher  with  sudden  intuition  realised  exactly  the  ap- 
propriate nature  of  the  poem  to  the  day,  and  smiled  through 
the  window  at  the  falling  flakes.  With  the  maddening  servility 
of  schoolboys  the  class  did  likewise.  Some  even  ventured  to 
giggle. 

The  senior  assistant  teacher  frowned  the  smile  and  giggles 
out  of  existence.  He  exerted  his  authority,  and  the  gigglers 
found  themselves  standing  on  the  form,  a  wearisome  penance. 
It  was  now  twenty-six  minutes  past  four.     Bert  Gooderich  had 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  5 

again  tackled  the  last  line  with  dubious  enunciation  and  heaved 
a  sigh  of  relief.     English  literature  was  not  his  forte. 

"  Who  wrote  Hohenlinden,  Brown  ?  "  asked  the  teacher. 

Brown,  Flying  Machine  Brown,  in  his  brother's  old  coat  and 
his  father's  Shakespear  collar,  Brown  with  his  alert  yet  vacuous 
features,  did  not  know.  The  senior  assistant  teacher  found  it 
increasingly  difficult  to  find  anything  that  Brown  did  know. 
Sometimes,  in  the  evenings,  he  would  debate  with  the  others  who 
shared  his  room,  who  would  be  top  of  the  Sixth  Standard.  He 
never  debated  who  would  be  bottom.     It  was  always  Brown. 

One  or  two  hands  were  put  up  —  self-conscious,  apologetic 
hands.  The  owners  of  the  hands  were  obviously  anxious  to  avoid 
being  considered  erudite.  The  others  thought  you  cocky  if  you 
put  up  your  hand  too  often. 

"  Thomas  Campbell  wrote  Hohenlinden,  Brown,"  said  the 
teacher  sadly.  And  the  hands  dropped  quickly.  Bert  Gooderich 
sat  down  and  resumed  the  sugared-almond. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Brown  brightly,  willing  to  learn  and  anxious 
not  to  be  kept  in. 

**  Yes,  sir !  "  mimicked  the  teacher.  "  And  you'll  forget  it  be- 
fore you  get  home,  eh?  " 

Brown  hoped  so,  but  smiled  diplomatically. 

"All  right,"  said  the  teacher,  "that'll  do;  Alder,  collect  the 
books." 

Alder,  a  Noel  Park  oil-and-colour-merchant's  son,  received  the 
books  from  the  end  boy  of  each  form,  all  the  others  scraping 
their  feet  and  thrusting  exercise  books  into  home  lesson  bags. 
Behind  the  huge  green  curtains  which  cut  the  room  in  two,  you 
could  hear  the  junior  standards  clattering  out  by  the  back  door. 
A  great  hubbub  arose  throughout  the  school.  Caps  were  snatched 
from  the  hooks,  mufflers  tied  on,  satchels  slung  over  the  left 
shoulder,  and  the  Sixth,  Seventh,  and  ex-Seventh  Standards 
swarmed  out  into  the  chapel  yard.  It  should  be  noticed  that  the 
Higher  Grade  School  was  part  of  the  premises  behind  the 
Wesleyan  Chapel,  whose  buttresses  formed  small  courts  convenient 
for  marbles,  chewy  chase,  and  small-boy  torture. 

Eventually  the  whole  school  was  trampling  the  whiteness  of 
the  Trinity  Road.  Many  boys  had  short  sticks,  others  had 
"  blood-knots,"  pieces  of  clothes-line  with  a  knot  at  one  end.  All 
looked  eagerly  across  the  triangular  common  towards  the  citadel 
of  "  the  Michaels." 


6  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

The  Michaels  were  the  nearest  enemies  of  the  "  Graders." 
The  Michaels  were  cut  off  from  democratic  and  bourgeois  sym- 
pathy by  their  religion,  which  was  church.  They  were  choir-boys, 
many  of  them ;  others  were  worse  —  they  were  Roman  Catholics. 
Their  school  lay  on  the  high  road  near  the  high  church,  between 
the  devils  of  the  Graders  and  the  surging  sea  of  Boarders  or 
common  Board  School  lads  from  Whitehart  Lane. 

By  one  of  those  subtle  collusions  which  are  the  despair  of 
psychology  the  Boarders  had  made  a  truce  with  the  Michaels, 
with  the  obj  ect  of  crushing  the  Graders  once  for  all.  Bert  Good- 
erich,  purchasing  comestibles  for  his  mother  at  a  shop  on  Jolly 
Butchers  Hill,  had  met,  and  fought  for  six  minutes,  with  the 
acknowledged  leader  of  the  hardy  Whitehart  Lane  army.  In 
the  small  ring  immediately  formed,  several  Michaels  had  cheered 
the  Boarder.  Bert,  all  his  Grader  blood  boiling,  and  some  of  it 
streaming  from  his  nose,  had  snatched  up  his  net  bag  of  provisions, 
and  flinging  a  challenge  to  both  schools  to  fight  the  Graders  and 
get  licked,  had  darted  away  before  the  odds  grew  too  serious. 
This  happened  on  the  previous  day.  It  took  but  a  few  hours  for 
every  responsible  warrior  in  all  three  academies  to  learn  of  the 
fray  and  the  gauge  flung  down  by  the  Trinity  Road  hero,  and  the 
coming  of  the  snow  warned  the  Graders  that  a  battle  of  Homeric 
dimensions  would  be  fought  before  some  of  them  had  tea. 
.  Leaving  the  kids  to  skirmish  and  smother  each  other  with 
amateurish  snowballs,  Bert  Gooderich  and  his  lieutenants  leaned 
against  the  railings  in  front  of  the  sacred  edifice  and  discussed 
the  position.  It  was  nothing  to  Bert  that  he  himself  could  have 
gone  home  to  Bounds  Green  without  harm.  The  lieutenants 
lived  Noel  Park  way,  Hornsey  way,  some  even  dwelt  in  White- 
hart Lane.  Bert  swung  his  blood-knot  and  matured  his  plans. 
There  was  no  supineness  about  Bert  now,  no  sniffing  lack  of 
interest.  Bert  was  one  of  those  lofty  souls  who  do  not  read 
poems  about  battles,  but  fight  them  with  a  bloody  joyousness  that 
causes  poets  and  suburban  residents  to  appeal  to  the  police.  He 
was  a  great  asset  to  the  Graders,  whose  ranks  were  weakened  by 
numerous  middle-class  boys,  poor  emasculated  creatures  who  wore 
white  collars  continually  and  who  went  away  to  the  seaside  in 
August.  Instinctively  they  leaned  on  Bert,  whose  father  was 
an  engine-fitter  at  a  big  works  in  the  City,  and  whose  Augusts 
were  spent  fishing  in  Littler's  Pond,  bird-nesting  out  at  Enfield, 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  7 

or  roaming  through  Hadley  Wood.  They  leaned  on  him  now, 
as  he  swung  his  blood-knot  and  matured  his  plan. 

"  They're  comin',  Bert ! "  called  out  a  lieutenant,  peering 
through  the  snowflakes.  Bert  saw  "  them  "  plainly  enough.  He 
thrust  his  knot  and  his  hands  into  his  pockets,  hunched  his 
shoulders  and  started  to  cross  the  common.  The  whole  school 
moved  forward,  like  an  army,  or  a  flock  of  sheep.  (The  reader 
can  take  his  choice  of  metaphors.)  When  he  arrived  at  the  pipe- 
trench,  Bert  paused  and  spat.  It  was  half  choked  with  snow, 
its  jagged  edges  and  yawning  depth  were  alike  concealed  and 
softly  rounded  in  spotless  purity. 

Bert  spat  into  the  trench.  The  lieutenants  looked  at  the  red- 
dish circle  of  his  saliva  with  respect.  They  all  knew  Bert  spat 
blood.  It  was  one  of  those  mystical  attributes  of  greatness  among 
boys.  Many  of  them  longed  to  spit  blood  like  Bert.  One  boy 
who  had  had  a  tooth  out  in  the  dinner-hour,  spat  crimson  and 
gained  high  prestige  for  a  while,  but  such  a  means  of  attaining 
it  was  considered  cheap,  like  cough  mixture,  which  only  made 
a  brown  stain.  Bert's  bronchial  apparatus  was  adrift  somewhere, 
as  was  proved  when  he  retched  phlegm  for  the  edification  of  a 
new  boy.  It  was  his  crowning  distinction,  his  deathless  claim  to 
sovereignty  over  them.     He  spat  blood. 

"  'Ere,"  he  said  to  Winship,  a  lieutenant  who  wore  trousers 
and  who  lived  (slept,  anyhow)  in  Whitehart  Lane.  "  'Ere,  Art, 
you  go  'ome,  that's  what  you'd  better  do.  Up  past  the  Alms- 
'ouses." 

"W'y?"  demanded  Winship  with  suspicion.  "See  any 
green?  " 

"  Go  on,"  said  Bert,  stooping  majestically  and  forming  the 
first  real  snowball  of  the  fight  with  deftly-pressing  fingers. 
"  'Ow  do  we  know  the  Boarders  ain't  comin'  down  Trinity  Road, 
jus'  for  a  change  like ?  I'm  goin'  acrost  to  mop  up  these  Michaels. 
So  'urry,  Arty,  my  love." 

Arty,  Bert's  love,  threw  up  his  head  in  enlightenment  and 
strode  off  up  the  bank  of  the  dyke  towards  the  Trinity  Road. 

"What's  up,  Bert?"  asked  a  lieutenant  in  glasses. 

"  Come  on,"  said  Bert,  striding  the  Rubicon  and  making  for 
the  Michaels.  "We  got  ter  keep  this  side  o*  the  'ole  —  see?  — 
till  I  tell  yer." 

The  Trinity  Graders,  happily  delivered  of  a  number  of  the 


8  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

aforesaid  middle-class  decadents  who  had  "  gone  home  "  to  their 
tea  and  home  lessons,  and  who  would  be  virtuously  and  insuffer- 
ably learned  on  the  morrow,  now  advanced,  a  cluster  of  black 
dots,  across  the  white  counterpane  of  snow.  Over  against  the 
red  brick  St.  Michael's  school-house,  the  patrons  of  that  saint 
were  to  be  seen  plainly,  craven  hearts  whom  fear  of  Bert  kept 
from  taking  a  glorious  initiative.  When  Bert  had  spat  into  the 
trench,  they  had  retired  from  the  east  to  the  west  side  of  their 
road.  Now  they  were  inside  their  yard,  round  suspicious  heads 
showing  over  the  wall  and  a  covey  of  excited,  oily-haired  little 
choir-boys  fluttering  in  the  dim  porch.  The  bigger  lads  were  be- 
ginning to  think  that  they  had  done  unwisely  in  retreating. 
Choir  practice  was  at  half-past  five,  and  Bert  Gooderich  cared 
neither  for  God  nor  man,  neither  night  nor  day,  snow  nor  fine. 
Bert  punched  them  furiously  whenever  he  found  them.  Now  they 
were  in  the  yard  their  allies  seemed  far  away,  choir  practice  was 
near.  Bert  and  his  Nonconformist  hordes  were  nearer  still.  He 
might  besiege  them  till  eight  o'clock.  Old  Plantagenet,  the 
organist,  would  be  wild. 

The  lieutenants  were  all  agog  with  delight.  Already  they 
were  spotting  the  Michaels'  porch  with  erratic  snowballs;  one 
downy  little  choir-boy  had  remained  peeping  through  the  bars  of 
the  gate,  when  a  hard  and  swift  ball  caught  him  in  the  teeth  and 
he  ran  screaming  into  the  panic-stricken  porch.  But  Bert  was 
not  simply  a  boy  out  for  a  lark;  he  was  a  general  playing  a  two- 
to-one  game,  he  was  a  tactician  with  a  scheme  to  develop.  Bert 
looked  back  across  the  common  to  see  if  Winship  had  gone  through 
like  a  coward,  or  was  beng  chased  like  a  rabbit  back  to  the  fight. 
Snow  no  longer  fell  thickly ;  you  could  see  the  lamps  of  the  Free- 
mason's Tavern  twinkling  away  up  Trinity  Road.  Somewhere 
up  there  the  Boarders  were  mustering.  Bert  never  miscalculated 
on  the  puny  defence  of  the  Michaels.  He  knew  they  had  been 
in  communication  with  the  Boarders.  A  snowball  struck  him  on 
the  shoulder.  He  ignored  it,  staring  away  towards  Trinity  Road. 
Where  was  the  trousered  Winship? 


II 

AT  the  northern  apex  of  the  triangular  common,  erected, 
with  superb  indifference  to  man's  needs,  in  the  very 
centre  of  the  highway,  was  a  granite  obelisk,  from 
whose  walls  gushed  drinking  water  except  when  the 
Berts  of  this  world  had  plugged  the  pores  with  slate  pencils. 
A  sarcophagus  with  water  inside  it,  and  a  Scripture  text  relating 
to  thirst  outside  it,  stood  near  the  obelisk.  Two  horsemen  had 
reined  in  near  this  point  as  Bert  passed  those  anxious  moments 
waiting  for  news  of  Winship.  Police  Inspector  Everett  was 
returned  from  his  inspection  of  the  Y  Division.  Colonel  Corinth- 
Squires,  late  73rd  Bengal  Cavalry,  now  of  H.  M.  Science  and  Art 
Department,  was  returned  from  his  afternoon  ride.  They  had 
met  on  the  Bounds  Green  Road,  had  cantered  towards  home 
through  the  snow,  and  now,  like  old  campaigners,  allowed  their 
beasts  the  smallest  possible  drink  of  water  before  going  on  to 
oats  and  chopped  hay.  The  Colonel,  moreover,  had  offered  his 
silver  brandy  flask  to  the  Inspector,  only  to  be  declined,  for  the 
latter  drank  whisky. 

"  I  knew  how  it  would  be,  when  we  accepted  the  lowest  tender 
for  those  pipes !  "  said  the  Colonel,  looking  across  the  common. 
"  That  trench  has  been  ready  for  laying  over  a  week  now.  Scan- 
dalous !  " 

"  I  heard,"  said  the  Inspector,  disentangling  his  spur  from  his 
long  blue  coat  — "  I  heard  that  Marsh  and  Lascelles  propose  to 
make  a  park  of  this  patch,  with  raised  shrubberies  and  asphalt 
paths  and  a  bandstand." 

Marsh  and  Lascelles  will  take  jolly  good  care  they  don't  pay 
for  the  shrubberies  and  paths  and  bandstand ! "  snapped  the  Col- 
on. 1.  "  Now  I  would  make  it  an  athletic  drill-ground  for  the 
two  schools,  and  what's  more  I'd  set  the  ball  rolling.  See  the 
of  the  thing !  A  school  each  side,  with  a  drill  shed,  parade 
ground,  football  field,  and,  later  on,  a  swimming  bath  and  gym- 
nasium on  this  corner.  Make  it  a  decent  building,  with  a  clock. 
These  poor  little  beggars  have  to  go  by  train  to  Hornsey  Road, 
dammit,  to  get  a  bath !     Scandalous !  " 

0 


10  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

"The  place  is  a  battlefield  all  the  time  now,"  said  the  In- 
spector.    "  My  men  are  always  taking  names  and  addresses." 

"  Names  and  addresses !  Look  here,  my  dear  Everett,  why  on 
earth  can't  the  police  leave  'em  alone,  so  long  as  they  do  their 
fighting  on  the  common  ?  Hang  it,  it's  in  the  air,  this  confounded 
repression.  They  complain  of  poor  recruiting,  and  I'm  not  sur- 
prised. I'm  not  a  damn  bit  surprised!  Yes,  we'll  go  along 
Trinity  Road.  The  school  and  the  Sunday-school  and  the  keep- 
off-the-grass  notices  in  the  parks,  and  the  police!  How  can  a 
youngster  grow  self-reliant  and  big  in  the  chest  if  he's  under  lock 
and  key  all  the  time?  You  mark  my  words,  Everett,  it's  a  mis- 
taken policy.  In  the  old  days,  there  were  wigs  on  the  green. 
And  now,  dammit,  if  a  boy  shies  a  stone  he's  up  before  me,  and 
I  have  to  fine  his  parents !  " 

"  You  should  live  in  the  country,  Colonel.  Wood  Green  is  a 
suburb :     Y  Division,  you  know !  " 

"  That's  a  nice  thing  to  say  to  me,  Everett !  My  grandfather 
had  Chits  Hill  Place  before  Dick  Ford  organised  you.  I  say, 
Everett,  just  wait  a  minute,  will  you?  Do  you  notice  anything 
about  that  mob  of  youngsters  on  the  green  ?  " 

The  Inspector,  with  great  good  humour,  reined  his  steed  beside 
the  Colonel  and  looked  abroad. 

"  I'm  much  mistaken,  Everett,  if  there  isn't  a  young  general  in 
charge  of  these  Higher  Grade  boys.  Look  now !  There's  a  squad 
keeping  back  those  lads  of  Whitehart  Lane,  there's  another  squad 
taking  the  front  of  the  attack  on  St.  Michael's  School,  the  main 
body  are  retreating  in  good  order,  and  by  gad !  they're  covering  a 
detachment  of  sappers  in  that  pipe  trench !  See  the  idea,  Everett  ? 
I  wish  I  had  my  glasses !  " 

The  Inspector  said  nothing,  but  smilingly  watched  the  fight. 
The  two  horsemen  might  have  been  officers  directing  the  engage- 
ment.    The  Colonel  was  excited. 

"  Look  now,  Everett !  The  main  body's  retreated  across  the 
trench.  The  St.  Michael's  boys  are  going  to  rush  it.  There's 
always  plenty  of  snow  in  a  ditch.  I  remember  that.  They'll  fall 
into  the  ambush.  It's  magnificent!  And  look  at  the  left  wing. 
They've  swung  round  to  support  the  squad  in  the  Trinity  Road. 
Now  look!  They're  in  the  trench,  and  by  Jove,  they've  got  it! 
No,  no!  The  sappers  are  at  'em.  Well,  I'm  blessed!  It's  a 
regularly-planned  feint.  See,  the  St.  Michael's  are  on  the  run, 
fairly  on  the  run.     Down,  too,  some  of  'em.     And  look  at  the  main 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  11 

body.  They're  after  'em  like  a  shot.  No  need  of  a  left  wing 
now.  Sappers  are  always  hot  stuff  in  a  tussle.  The  lad  that's 
bossing  this  fight  is  an  embryo  general.  See  how  they're  keeping 
the  Whitehart  Lane  chaps  from  coming  out  into  the  open.  I  wish 
I  had  my  glasses.     It's  as  good  as  a  play !  " 

"  I'm  afraid  the  play's  over,  Colonel.     It's  nearly  dark." 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it.  These  young  rascals  can  see  like  cats.  And 
their  leader  won't  stop  now.  He'll  smash  up  the  St.  Michael's  and 
then  wheel  his  whole  force  round  and  chase  the  Whitehart  Lane 
boys  to  Kingdom  Come.  I'm  going  round  Commerce  Road  and 
back  to  the  Freemason's  Tavern  to  see  the  rout." 

Putting  their  animals  to  a  trot  the  two  grey  moustached  men 
passed  up  the  shop-lined  Commerce  Road  and  emerged  upon  the 
High  Road,  where  the  trams  now  run  towards  Enfield.  As  they 
came  up  to  the  Trinity  Road  once  more,  they  beheld  what  the  Col- 
onel justly  called  the  rout.  Penned  in  between  the  private  dwell- 
ings and  the  high  wall  of  the  Almshouses,  the  Whitehart  Lane  boys 
were  struggling  with  a  furious  onset  from  the  whole  army  of 
Higher  Graders.  Sticks,  stones,  snowballs,  weighted  with  flints, 
blood-knots,  and  fists  were  flying  in  all  directions.  Hoarse  cries 
of  derision  and  victory  blent  with  the  roar  of  the  High  Road.  In 
the  forefront  of  the  battle,  with  bloody  face  and  empurpled  eyes, 
Bert  Gooderich  was  hammering  home  the  most  famous  victory  of 
his  life.  His  blood-knot  was  gone,  his  clothes  were  torn  and 
wet,  and  his  satchel  was  empty.  But  he  was  fighting  like  a 
demon.  Incessantly  he  stopped  and  moulded  a  snowball  from  the 
blackened  slush  of  the  roadway,  and  with  deadly  aim  he  blinded 
the  nearest  enemy.  Now  and  again  he  closed  with  some  desperate 
Boarder,  and  struck  again  and  again  at  the  boy's  chin  until  the 
battle  separated  them. 

It  was  an  immemorial  custom  of  the  belligerents  to  regard  the 
publicity  of  the  High  Road  as  the  Romans  regarded  the  Danube. 
The  barbarians  of  Whitehart  Lane  might  retreat  across  it.  By 
doing  so  they  earned  a  respite  of  twenty-four  hours  and  the  mock- 
ery of  a  week.  On  this  particular  evening,  as  the  Inspector  and 
the  Colonel  turned  away  northward  again,  the  Graders  reached 
the  last  lamp-post  of  Trinity  Road,  and  a  policeman  moved  slowly 
across  from  the  Freemason's  Arms  to  quell  the  disturbance.  Be- 
fore he  was  halfway  across  the  barbarian  ranks  were  broken  and 
flying  southward,  and  the  Graders,  flushed  with  triumph,  retreated 
with  back-turned  faces  and  occasional  gibes  at  the  copper.     Now 


12  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

indeed  the-  battle  was  ended,  overshadowed  by  darkness  and 
the  anger  of  the  law.  Wearily  Bert  Gooderich  climbed  the  plinth 
of  the  granite  obelisk  and  drank  thirstily  from  the  heavy  copper 
cup.  He  had  lost  his  exercise  book.  There  would  be  trouble  with 
old  Piper  in  the  morning. 

And  there  was  the  long,  lonely  walk  home. 

Such  are  the  vicissitudes  of  greatness ! 


Ill 

THE  Gooderich  family,  of  whom  a  good  deal  will  be  writ- 
ten in  this  book,  lived  in  Maple  Road,  a  thoroughfare 
more  easily  imagined  than  described.  The  High  Road 
from  Wood  Green  crossed  the  western  end  of  it,  giving 
the  drivers  of  pantechnicons  and  drapery-vans  a  view  of  a  short, 
broad,  level  avenue,  with  a  church  at  one  end  of  the  north  side,  a 
church  in  the  middle  of  the  south  side,  six  large  houses  and  eight 
small  villas.  The  eastern  end  of  this  road  was  shadowed  by  tall 
oaks,  and  tailed  off  into  a  quiet  lane  that  wound  interminably  to- 
wards Tottenham.  Thus  it  was  that  the  Gooderich  family,  who 
rented  the  last  but  one  of  the  small  villas,  and  who  had  no  pre- 
tensions to  gentility,  dwelt  in  a  genteel  thoroughfare,  and  their 
roof,  in  the  morning,  was  darkened  by  the  shadow  of  the  ancestral 
oaks  of  Verulamium. 

Both  ecclesiastical  buildings  in  Maple  Road  were  dissenting,  but 
the  Established  Church,  a  dry,  stand-offish  edifice,  frowned  from 
the  other  side  of  the  High  Road;  the  sexton  lived  at  number  eight 
(a  small  house),  and  the  curate,  unmarried  and  genial,  at  number 
four  (a  large  house).  Nothing  ever  broke  the  calm  of  this  rural 
neighbourhood,  save  the  Italian  barrel-organ  at  seven  o'clock  on 
Saturday  evening,  and  the  fact  that  only  six  miles  separated  it 
from  the  mightiest  city  in  the  world,  seemed  a  wild  and  incredible 
myth. 

The  Gooderich  family  lived,  with  lapses  for  meals,  in  the 
back  of  the  house,  the  front  room  being  occupied  by  furniture. 
On  Sunday  mornings,  for  instance,  there  was  a  further  lapse. 
Mrs.  Gooderich  would  stand  a  little  to  one  side  of  the  front  win- 
dow, one  finger  cautiously  holding  the  edge  of  the  curtain,  and 
watch,  as  in  a  glass  darkly,  the  Baptists  going  to  chapel.  This 
curiosity  of  Mrs.  Gooderich  was  perfectly  innocent.  She  was 
thirty-four  years  of  age  and  she  had  a  great  desire  to  look  at  other 
women's  clothes.  But  the  mention  of  church-going  and  clothes 
recalls  the  fact  that  the  internal  economy  of  the  Gooderich  family 
will  be  badly  comprehended  without  an  account  of  the  early  career 

13 


14  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

of  Mrs.  Gooderich.  She  was  born  in  Berkshire,  and  her  father 
was  a  farm  labourer.  Her  five  sisters,  one  by  one,  went  out  to 
service,  and  it  would  have  been  little  less  than  a  miracle  if  Mary 
had  escaped  the  same  fate.  The  miracle  did  not  happen  —  no 
miracle  had  happened  in  Wantage  since  the  Reformation  —  and 
Mary  Higgs,  with  her  small  figure,  small  features,  small  blue  eyes, 
and  small  wooden  box,  was  put  into  the  London  train  to  go  and 
make  her  fortune. 

Mary's  first,  and  last,  mistress  was  a  stockbroker's  wife  at 
Hornsey.  There  were  no  children,  not  many  visitors,  and  not 
much  to  do,  for  the  stockbroker  was  only  a  junior  partner  at 
the  time,  and  he  was  obsessed  by  a  vision  of  that  famous  land- 
scape, "  A  Rainy  Day."  So  Mary  dressed  herself  in  a  black  dress 
and  white  cap  and  apron  every  day  at  three  o'clock  and  chat- 
tered with  the  servant  next  door  through  the  trellis  work  that 
separated  the  gardens.  The  servant  next  door  was  a  flaming 
blonde  with  four  young  men,  and  she  liked  Mary  from  the  first. 
The  flaming  blonde  was  a  Hoxton  girl,  and  considered  it  her  duty 
bound  to  start  Mary  in  social  life.  The  first  Sunday  out  saw 
them  in  Finsbury  Park.  To  a  girl  who  had  lived  in  Wantage  all 
her  life,  Finsbury  Park,  with  its  vast  lake,  colossal  refreshment 
pavilion,  broad  avenues  of  stately  trees,  and  its  hum  of  Life, 
was  the  Elysian  Fields.  Mary  was  introduced  to  a  deep-chested 
young  man  who  took  her  for  a  row  on  the  lake.  Boating  in  Fins- 
bury Park  is  not  the  naval  scrimmage  one  finds  in  Battersea  Park. 
You  rowed  round  and  round  until  your  sixpenny  worth  was  up; 
you  kept  clear  of  other  crafts  and  then  stepped  ashore  to  eat  ices 
and  meringues  at  little  tables.  You  made  due  allowance  for  the 
fact  that  personal  remarks  travel  a  long  way  over  water,  and  spoke 
low.  It  was  like  Maple  Avenue,  genteel.  Mary  enj  oyed  it  for  a 
month  or  two,  and  then  the  flaming  blonde,  who  wore  an  engage- 
ment ring  on  these  Sundays  out,  went  to  Finsbury  Park  alone, 
and  the  deep-chested  young  man  took  his  airing  on  the  lake  in 
solitary  state.  Mary  was  indisposed,  so  her  friend  said,  conceal- 
ing the  whole  truth,  which  was  that  Mary  was  indisposed  to  pro- 
ceed any  further  with  the  tedious  business  of  a  humdrum  love- 
making.  Mary  Higgs  was  not  built  that  way.  The  young  man 
who  delivered  two  Coburgs  and  a  Hovis  loaf  daily  at  the  stock- 
broker's back  entrance  was  infinitely  more  amusing.  He  told 
Mary  diverting  stories,  he  gave  her  copies  of  the  Illustrated  Stand- 
ard and  the  Mirror  of  Life,  and  he  formed  the  habit  of  leaving 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  15 

bags  of  stale  pastry,  which  Mary  consumed  in  the  small  room  over 
the  scullery  where  she  slept.  And  on  the  Sunday  when  she  was 
indisposed,  as  I  have  stated  above,  she  waited  until  the  flaming 
blonde  had  boarded  the  old  horse-tram  in  the  High  Road,  and 
then  hastened  away  northwards  towards  Jolly  Butchers  Hill. 
The  baker's  cart,  divested  of  its  trade-boards,  and  looking  exactly 
like  a  neat  gig,  was  waiting  for  her  at  the  top  of  the  hill,  under 
the  trees  in  front  of  the  Fishmongers'  Almshouses.  This  was 
much  more  to  Mary's  taste.  They  drove  out  past  Winchmore 
Hill  and  Enfield,  and  in  the  deep  lanes  that  lead  away  to 
Waltham  and  Broxbourne,  the  baker's  young  man  made  love  in  a 
manner  manifestly  impossible  on  the  Finsbury  Park  lake.  And 
then  in  the  summer  evening  they  drove  across  country  to  Potters 
Bar  and  halted  at  a  public-house  on  the  North  Road.  Here 
Mary  had  a  glass  of  stout  brought  out  to  her  as  she  sat  in  the 
trap,  and  her  swain  lighted  another  cigar. 

This  was  a  beginning  of  a  new  existence  for  Mary  Higgs. 
I  don't  think  she  was  very  much  in  love  with  the  man.  He 
had  a  very  taking  manner  with  women,  and  seemed  to  be  able 
to  take  liberties  that  they  would  have  resented  in  another.  He 
earned  good  money  as  a  journeyman,  being  particularly  clever 
at  "  smalls,"  and  if  she  considered  the  matter  at  all,  I  suppose 
Mary  would  have  decided  that  she  was  doing  very  well  for  herself. 
He  was  fascinated  by  Mary's  petite  figure,  her  dark  hair  and  blue 
eyes,  and  the  faint  Berkshire  accent  of  her  speech.  They  were 
both  slightly  romantic.  The  fascination  lasted  for  three  months, 
and  then  the  stockbroker's  wife  changed  her  baker. 

For  the  first  few  days  Mary  bore  the  absence  of  her  lover 
in  patience.  Of  course  he  could  not  come  every  day  now  that  he 
had  no  reason  for  calling.  One  evening,  while  buying  groceries, 
she  walked  past  the  shop  where  he  worked,  but  the  proprietor's 
wife  was  serving  another  servant  with  pastry  and  Mary  did  not 
care  to  go  in.  Sunday  came  and  went,  the  flaming  blonde 
went  forth  to  walk  out  with  her  young  man,  and  Mary  was 
alone.  She  was  quite  at  a  loss  until  she  formed  the  desire  to 
find  him.  She  scorned  the  idea  of  waiting  about  until  he  came 
by.  That  was  not  yet.  She  had  no  pangs  because  she  had  given 
way  to  him.     She  was  merely  at  a  loss. 

The  week  was  long  and  tedious.  On  the  Friday  evening  she 
had  to  run  out  hastily  to  get  some  sponge  cakes  for  a  late  tea. 
The  stockbroker's  nephew  and  nieces  had  come  for  a  visit  from 


16  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

Twickenham.  Mary  went  to  the  old  shop  and  bought  the  cakes 
from  a  boy  in  an  apron,  a  smart  well-brushed  boy. 

"How's  Mister  Royce?"  she  asked  in  the  course  of  a  light 
conversation. 

"Him?     Oh,  Vs  gone." 

"  Oh."  Mary  took  the  change  —  you  get  fourteen  sponge  cakes 
for  one  and  a  penny  —  and  counted  the  five  pennies.  "  Where's 
he  gone  to  ?  " 

"  Gone  to  the  Col'nies.     'Is  brother's  out  there,  yer  see." 

"  Really !     You  do  surprise  me." 

He  did.  It  was  not  the  first  time  Mr.  Royce's  movements  had 
provided  a  young  woman  with  a  surprise.  Mary  went  swiftly 
home  and  thought  the  matter  out  while  she  made  cocoa  and  lemon- 
ade for  the  nephews  and  nieces.  She  did  not  care,  only  —  well, 
she  didn't  care  so  long  as  nothing  happened. 

You  can  remain  a  long  time  in  such  a  state  of  mind.  You 
can  get  used  to  it,  even.  You  can  do  your  work,  and  read  the 
newspaper,  and  talk  to  a  flaming  blonde  about  her  approaching 
nuptials  in  a  perfectly  sane  way. 

And  when  the  Saturday  dinner  is  over  and  done  with,  and  you 
run  upstairs  to  put  yourself  straight,  you  can  even  look  into  the 
glass  at  a  flushed  damp  face  and  heaving  bosom,  and  argue  that 
the  flush  is  due  to  the  hot  kitchen  fire  and  the  short  breath  to  the 
hasty  climb,  not  at  all  to  the  thoughts  of  the  empty  to-morrow. 
But  it  makes  a  change  for  all  that.  You  will  see  a  crease  in  the 
corners  near  your  eyes,  and  your  mouth  is  a  little  harder. 

Mary  did  not  wait  for  the  breaking  point,  however.  After 
a  fortnight  of  close-lipped  suspense,  she  paid  another  visit  to  the 
smart  well-brushed  boy,  and  asked  to  see  his  mistress.  The 
baker's  wife,  wide  of  features  and  slow  of  movement,  emerged 
from  the  sitting-room  at  the  back. 

"  Mr.  Royce,"  said  Mary,  "  'e  used  to  be  a  friend  o'  mine. 
Could  you  tell  me  where  a  letter '11  find  'im  ?  " 

The  baker's  wife  looked  at  the  small  figure  of  Mary  as  she 
ran  her  fingers  to  and  fro  on  the  curved  glass  of  a  Fry's  choco- 
late showcase. 

"  Come  in  'ere,  my  dear ! "  she  said,  moving  towards  the  back 
room,  and  Mary  followed  her. 

Women  have  great  courage.     Half  an  hour  afterwards  Mary 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  17 

came  out  smiling,  a  piece  of  paper  in  the  palm  of  her  glove.     She 
shook  hands  with  the  baker's  wife,  who  was  remarking: 

"  As  I  say,  I  doubt  if  it's  any  use,  but  there  it  is."  And 
Mary  smiled  and  thanked  her.  She  opened  the  shop  door  and 
the  resonant  "  ting  "  made  her  jump. 

"  Let  me  know,  won't  you  ?  "  said  the  baker's  wife,  and  again 
the  girl  smiled  and  thanked  her.  ' 

The  next  day  was  Sunday,  a  hot  September  day,  and  Mary 
lay  down  for  a  while  before  she  dressed.  Her  hands  and  lips 
were  dry,  and  twice  she  interrupted  her  toilet  to  wash  and  to 
rinse  her  mouth. 

A  street  off  the  Caledonian  Road  was  the  object  of  her  search. 
To  the  dwellers  in  outer  North  London,  the  geography  of  inner 
North  London  is  as  perplexing  as  that  of  Jersey  City  or  Genoa. 
One  passes  high  over  it  all  in  the  train:  it  consists  principally, 
as  far  as  one  can  see,  of  backyards  and  sky  signs.  Mary  took  the 
Seven  Sisters  Road  tram  to  the  Nag's  Head.  "  You  can  walk 
from  there,"  the  baker's  wife  had  said.  So  you  can,  on  a  cool 
day,  and  if  you  know  the  way.  But  it  was  a  blazing  day.  The 
bicycles  lifted  the  white  dust  of  the  road  into  the  quivering  air, 
and  the  sunlight  reflected  from  the  sidewalk  made  her  eyes  ache. 

A  policeman  helped  her.  "  Third,  fourth,  fifth  on  the  left !  " 
he  told  her,  and  she  went  on  again.  When  she  reached  the  road, 
Caroline  Road,  the  number  she  wanted  was  a  long  way  down. 
No.  261  Caroline  Road,  N.  It  was  what  they  call  a  nice  little 
'ouse.  In  North  London,  if  you  own  a  row  of  such,  you  will  re- 
ceive more  local  homage,  reverence,  and  fame,  than  an  author,  a 
cricketer,  and  a  trick  cyclist  put  together.  Literature?  Sport? 
They  pass,  evanescent;  the  houses  stand.  You  have  a  stake  in 
the  country.  You  do  not  talk  or  act,  you  are.  After  you  leave 
the  saloon  bar,  men  who  know  you  by  sight  claim  the  friendship 
of  your  inmost  soul.  '*  Don't  ask  me  'ow  many  'ouses  'e's  got !  " 
they  say,  in  humorous  condescension,  to  foreigners. 

No.  261  was  owned  by  such  a  person.  In  fact,  Mr.  Royce 
Senior  was  the  person  and  he  lived  at  261.  Consequently, 
when  Mary  Higgs  was  ushered  into  his  presence,  he  left  his  visitor 
to  make  the  first  move.  He  was  sitting  in  the  front  room,  a  box 
of  cigars  and  a  bottle  of  whisky  on  the  table  at  his  side.  When 
Mary  said  she  was  a  friend  of  his  son,  he  let  it  pass.  When 
she  went  on  to  say  that  she  understood  his  son  had  gone  to  the 


18  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

Colonies,  he  looked  hard  at  her  but  let  that  pass  too.     But  when 
she  cornered  him  by  asking  for  his  son's  address,  he  spoke. 

"  Anythin'  important?"  he  said,  blowing  out  smoke. 

"  I'm  three  months  gone,"  she  answered  with  rustic  brevity, 
"  and  I'd  like  to  know  when  he's  comin'  back." 

The  owner  of  twelve  nice  little  'ouses  looked  at  Mary  Higgs  in 
shocked  surprise.  He  had  been  against  the  idea  of  his  youngest 
son  going  out  to  the  Colonies.  His  idea  had  been  to  buy  him  a 
nice  little  business  near  by  and  set  him  up.  His  youngest  son 
was  inclined  to  fall  in  with  this,  had  in  fact  delayed  his  departure 
to  discuss  the  matter.  Mr.  Royce  Senior  was  rather  sorry  now 
that  the  young  man  had  not  gone  after  all.  Not  that  he  had  any 
objection  to  his  son  marrying  a  girl  in  service,  for  Mrs.  Royce 
Senior  had  been  a  housemaid.  But  Mr.  Royce  Senior  did  not  be- 
lieve Mary's  story  at  all.  He  had  lived  in  London  for  a  great 
many  years  and  he  had  a  large  experience  of  the  villainy  of  hu- 
man nature.  It  was  one  of  his  axioms  that  while  men  are  liars, 
young  women  in  trouble  are  greater  liars  still,  that  they  will 
stick  at  nothing  to  fasten  a  claim  upon  some  quite  possibly  inno- 
cent young  man.  He  did  not  preach  on  this  text  save  very 
rarely,  in  private,  to  his  sons,  but  avoided  such  difficult  themes, 
just  as  he  avoided  auctions  and  deaths  in  his  nice  little  'ouses. 
Moreover,  Mr.  Royce  Senior  had  no  opinion  of  a  young  woman 
who  was  fool  enough  to  let  a  man  have  his  own  way.  It  stamped 
her  as  unfit  to  be  a  mistress  of  a  nice  little  'ouse.  Mr.  Royce 
Senior's  devotion  to  the  solidarity  of  his  class  was  very  deep,  very 
sincere,  very  unconscious.  He  was  as  incapable  of  ratting  as  a 
Tory  Duke.  His  eminence  as  a  houseowner  and  landlord  did 
not  shake  this  loyalty  to  his  humble  class,  it  confirmed  it.  He 
was  an  embodied  respectability,  as  his  wife,  now  some  years  de- 
ceased, was  a  disembodied  respectability,  whose  funeral  (at 
Abney  Park)  was  as  a  second  Anno  Domini  to  many  matrons  in 
Caroline  Road.  And  here  was  this  embodied  respectability  con- 
fronted with  a  young  woman  who  "  tried  a  new  game  "  by  stating 
unmentionable  facts  directly  and  without  loss  of  time;  thinking 
to  wring  his  withers  by  surprise,  he  imagined.  Well,  that  was 
an  improbable  event,  because  Mr.  Royce  Senior  was  a  business 
man,  and  he  was  just  as  much  alive  to  the  interests  of  his  pocket 
and  position  on  Sunday  afternoon  as  he  was  on  Monday  morning.' 
So  he  turned  the  matter  over  in  his  mind,  looking  at  Mary  the 
while. 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  19 

"  I  see  'ow  it  is,"  he  said  at  length,  looking  severely  at  his 
cigar.  "  What  you'd  better  do  is  to  let  me  move  in  the  matter. 
I'll  write  to  'im,  see?  'E'll  listen  to  me.  I'll  'ave  to  'ave  'is 
side  o'  the  thing,  too,  'fore  I  can  move  in  the  matter.  What's 
your  address  ?  " 

He  reached  out  a  fat  hand  to  a  roll-top  desk  at  his  back  and 
took  a  piece  of  paper  and  a  pencil. 

"  Mary  Higgs,  '  The  Glen,'  Eldersleigh  Road,  Hornsey,  N.," 
said  Mary,  and  repeated  it  in  overlapping  instalments  until  Mr. 
Royce  Senior  had  it  all  safely  down.  "  Yes,  H-I-G-G-S.  Higgs. 
Double  G.  The  Glen  —  that's  the  name  o'  the  'ouse  —  El-ders- 
leigh  —  L-E-I-G-H,  Hornsey." 

"  Yes.  All  right,  I'll  attend  to  it.  You  see  'ow  it  is,  I  can't 
move  in  the  matter  —  oh,  quite  so,  I'm  not  saying  that  at  all. 
Only  nowadays,  you  know,  must  protect  ourselves."  He  stood  up 
and  laid  his  cigar  down.  Mary  stood  up  too.  She  felt  unable 
to  do  anything  else.  Mr.  Royce  Senior  followed  her  out  into  the 
narrow  passidge  "  and  held  open  the  front  door.  He  did  not 
offer  his  hand,  but  he  maintained  the  friendly  prove-your-case- 
and-I'm-with-you  tone  in  his  voice. 

"  Don't  worry.  Jus'  leave  it  to  me,  see?  "  And  he  shut  the 
door. 

"  It's  like  this,"  he  said  sternly  to  his  son  about  three  hours 
later.  "  It's  like  this.  Don't  you  reckon  I'm  going  ter  buy  off 
young  women  for  yer,  because  I  ain't.  I  don't  want  ter  know 
whether  'er  story's  true  or  not,  'cause  I  don't  care.  You're 
twenty- four  an'  your  own  master,  not  mine.  If  you  want  to  go 
to  the  Colonies,  you  can  go  and  I'll  start  yer.  If  you  want  to 
stop  'ere,  stop,  an'  marry  the  girl,  and  don't  look  ter  me." 

This  completes  the  Royce  incident.  The  briskness  of  Mr. 
Royce  Junior,  the  masterly  inactivity  of  Mr.  Royce  Senior,  to- 
gether with  the  successful  prosecution  of  stockbroking  by  Mary's 
employer,  render  it  unnecessary  to  detail  life  as  it  is  lived  in 
Caroline  Road. 


IV 

I  DO  not  know  that  Mary's  mistress  was  a  very  unconven- 
tional person.  In  fact,  she  was  very  like  many  young 
women  I  have  met  in  suburban  society.  She  was  not  very 
religious,  nor  yet  very  giddy.  As  her  family  grew  up, 
she  formed  the  habit  of  going  to  church,  because  of  the  children; 
she  liked  her  husband's  friends,  and  they  liked  her;  she  dressed 
nicely,  and  knew  a  good  deal  about  her  husband's  money  mat- 
ters, because  she  understood  office  work,  having  been  in  the  City 
for  a  couple  of  years  as  a  shorthand  clerk.  Indeed,  like  the 
young  women  above  mentioned,  she  in  no  way  resembled  the 
stock  figures  of  suburban  fiction.  I  am  obliged  to  emphasise 
this  point,  or  the  reader  will  imagine  I  am  departing  from  the 
truth  when  I  record  that  she  "  waited  up  "  on  that  hot  Sunday 
evening  when  her  maid  did  not  return  as  usual,  at  nine  o'clock. 
She  was  reading  a  book  in  the  drawing-room  when  she  looked 
up  and  saw,  through  the  bow-window,  the  figure  of  Mary  Higgs 
coming  hurriedly  up  the  path  to  the  front  door. 

"  Why,  Mary!     Wherever  have  you  been?  " 

"  Oh,  ma'am,  I  am  sorry  —  please  excuse  me  this  once.  I  — 
I  had  a  fit " ;  and  Mary  dropped  suddenly  into  the  oak  hall-chair 
while  her  mistress  turned  up  the  light. 

"A  fit!     What  was  the  matter,  the  heat?" 

"  Yes,  ma'am.     I  felt  all  giddy  like,  and  —  and  I  fell  down." 

"  There,  there !     Come  into  the  dining-room." 

Mary,  helped  a  little,  for  she  was  still  faint,  sank  into  a  deep 
chair  in  the  dining-room.  Mary's  mistress  stood  by  the  table  and 
looked  at  her  in  perplexity.  She  wanted  to  call  her  husband, 
but  hardly  knew  what  to  do. 

"  What  is  it,  Mary  ?  You're  strong  enough  as  a  rule.  Tell  me 
all  about  it?" 

And  that  is  just  what  Mary  did,  with  rustic  brevity.  There 
was  a  brief  silence  when  she  finished. 

"  I'll  pack  to-night,  ma'am,  an'  go  in  the  mornin',"  she  said. 

"  There's  no  need  to  do  that,  Mary.  Go  to  bed  now.  I'll  tell 
you  when  to  pack." 

That  was  all.     Mary  went  to  bed,  much  more  light-hearted  than 

20 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  21 

her  mistress,  who  bolted  the  front  door,  and  went  upstairs  to  her 
husband,  who  was  smoking  in  the  dressing-room. 

"  Has  that  baggage  come  home  at  last,  Trix  ?  "  he  growled, 
yawning.     "  What's  up  ?     You've  been  a  deuce  of  a  time !  " 

"  Let's  go  to  bed,  dear.     I'll  tell  you  afterwards." 

It  is  so  much  easier  to  tell  intimate  things  in  the  dark. 

It  is  here  that  I  must  strain  the  reader's  indulgence.  That 
order  to  pack  never  came  to  Mary.  The  silent  darkness,  the  faint 
ticking  of  the  clock,  the  cradled  Miracle  by  the  side  of  the  big 
brass  bedstead,  the  success  that  was  hovering  over  the  business  in 
Copthall  Avenue,  all  these  things  tended  to  ease  the  telling  of  the 
tale  to  the  husband.  What  he  thought  of  it  no  one  ever  really 
knew.  Perhaps  he  did  not  know  himself.  That  miracle  of  his 
own  was  so  recent,  so  barely  detached  from  fairyland,  that  at 
least  we  may  conclude  that  he  did  not  take  Mr.  Royce  Senior's 
view  of  the  case.  And  yet  he  adopted  that  houseowner's  masterly 
inactivity,  leaving  the  matter  to  his  wife,  and  going  off  to  get  the 
nine-fifteen  next  morning  without  a  single  reference  to  Mary. 

That  young  woman  communicated,  in  a  disjointed  fashion,  the 
details  of  her  collapse  on  the  blistered  sidewalk  of  the  Caledonian 
Road,  the  sudden  giving  way  of  her  limbs,  the  hot  dust  impreg- 
nated with  the  smell  of  manure,  the  coming-to  in  the  arms  of  a 
perspiring  stranger,  the  administration  of  brandy  from  a  near-by 
hostelry,  the  rest  in  a  chemist's  back  room,  the  policeman  all 
blue  and  silver,  the  curious  small  crowd.  In  Mary's  mind,  the 
ammonia-reek  and  the  flashing  buttons  on  the  vast  background  of 
the  constable's  tunic,  were  the  salient  recurring  features.  Over 
and  over  again,  as  she  lay  on  her  bed,  she  felt  the  choking  sensa- 
tion in  her  lungs  and  saw  those  buttons  like  corrugated  moons  in  a 
blue  universe  confronting  her  aching  eyes.  It  was  missis'  orders 
that  she  was  to  lie  still.  A  charwoman  was  making  the  best  of  it 
in  the  kitchen.  Nor  to  worry,  either,  said  missis.  Later  a  doc- 
tor, if  needful.     Mary's  eyes  closed  gradually. 

Towards  evening  she  tottered  downstairs  and  entered  the 
drawing-room.  Her  mistress  was  sewing,  rocking  a  cradle  with 
her  feet. 

"  Please,  ma'am,  what'll  you  be  doin'  wi'  me?  I  can't  stay 
here.     I  can't  indeed,  after  this." 

"  Yes,  you  can,  Mary.  I  told  you  before  that  i  would  help 
you.     What  did  you  think  of  doing?  " 

"  Goin'  'ome  to  Wantage,  ma'am." 


22  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

"  And  be  a  burden  to  your  mother  ?  That's  foolish.  You'll  be 
all  right  to-morrow  again." 

Mary  was  standing  looking  down  at  the  cradle.  The  child's 
face  and  small  arms  were  uncovered,  the  hazel  eyes  were  gazing 
up  at  her,  smiling,  smiling.  It  seemed  to  the  sad,  soiled  servant- 
girl  that  the  infinite  mercy  of  high  heaven  was  shining  in  those 
clear,  flawless  little  eyes.  And  she  dropped  on  her  knees  and 
bent  her  head  over  them  in  a  wild  abandon  of  unutterable 
emotion. 

And  so  Mary  stayed  on  for  another  five  months.  The  Spring 
was  in  the  blue  sky,  and  the  tall  lilac  bush  blazed  when  her 
mistress  said  one  day: 

"  Get  ready  to  go  home,  Mary.  There's  a  train  at  Padding- 
ton  at  ten-thirty  to-morrow." 

It  had  all  been  explained  before,  and  Mary  understood  that 
she  was  to  go  to  her  mother's  for  her  lying-in.  Mrs.  Higgs 
had  paid  a  short  visit  to  "  The  Glen  "  and  received  certain  in- 
structions. These  things  are  regarded  in  a  very  human  light  by 
country  folk.  A  trouble  is  a  trouble,  and  the  general  idea,  in  the 
country,  is  to  treat  it  as  such,  rather  than  to  snatch  the  knotted 
cords  from  the  hand  of  God  and  deal  out  murderous  blows.  Mary 
was  the  youngest  child,  and  Mrs.  Higgs  took  children  as  you  take 
your  breakfast,  as  a  matter  of  course.  There  are  quite  a  number 
of  folk  who  look  at  it  this  way. 

I  think  Mary  worshipped  her  mistress  when,  seeing  the  girl's 
dark  blue  eyes  strained  towards  the  slumbering  miracle,  she 
nodded  assent.  Just  one  light  touch  of  the  lips  on  the  child's 
forehead,  and  Mary  went  out,  pale,  downcast,  and  silent,  and 
drove  away  in  a  rusty  four-wheeler,  a  diminutive  blob  of  blue 
cloak,  black  hat  and  veil  in  the  corner  of  the  vehicle,  surmounted 
by  a  brown  corded  box.  And  then  there  was  the  journey  by 
rail,  and  a  silent  old  mother  on  the  platform,  concealing  her  emo- 
tion under  a  fictitious  care  of  the  corded  box.  And  the  walk,  the 
progress  up  the  long  tiled  path  to  the  cottage  set  back  from  the 
road,  into  the  old  home.  They  had  carried  the  corded  box  be- 
tween them  from  the  station,  and  that  was  the  last  thing  Mary 
did  for  herself  for  some  time. 


IT  was  the  easiest  thing  in  the  world  for  a  subdued  and  con- 
siderably changed  Mary  to  stay  on  helping  her  mother  and 
tending  the  baby,  instead  of  standing  outside  the  Old  Home 
in  the  snow  (true,  it  was  summer-time)  and  peering  through 
the  blinds  at  a  tragic  couple  bathed  in  firelight  and  melodramatic 
grief,  which  you  may  find,  from  theatre  posters,  is  the  correct 
thing  for  girls  in  trouble.  Her  baby  showed  no  signs  of  violent 
evil  as  yet,  no  scarlet  letter  blazed  on  Mary's  bosom,  and  the 
Church  embodied  in  an  Oxford  man  who  feared  God  much  more 
than  he  feared  hard  work,  sent  old  magazines  to  read  and  left 
things  for  Time  to  put  right.  Very  gratefully  Mary  wrote  a 
scrawly  ungrammatical  letter  to  the  stockbroker's  wife,  telling  her 
she  was  well  and  going  on  nicely,  that  the  baby  was  a  love,  and 
that  she  would  be  very  glad  and  thankful  to  come  back  again, 
if  she  might,  when  she  could  leave  the  baby.  And  God  bless  her 
for  her  many  kindnesses  and  no  more  at  present. 

It  was  in  July,  I  think,  that  Fate,  having  been  occupied  with 
an  earthquake  in  Siam,  an  insurrection  in  Lima,  and  a  war  in  the 
Balkans,  turned  his  attention  once  more  to  Mary  Higgs.  Mrs. 
Higgs  had  a  friend  living  near  by  whose  eldest  son,  as  we  have 
seen,  was  a  fitter  in  a  London  shop. 

This  son,  having  had  his  right  arm  broken  and  having  acquired 
numerous  contusions  about  the  head,  had  been  laid  up  for  some 
time.  More  for  lack  of  the  opportunity,  perhaps,  than  anything 
else,  the  invalided  mechanic  had  never  married.  A  self-con- 
tained, reliable  sort  of  man,  stiff  of  beard,  incalculable  of  eye,  he 
would  stand  at  the  green  gate  three  gardens  away,  and  smoke. 
Grotesque  too,  the  pipe  emerging  from  the  bandages  that  covered 
the  contusions,  while  the  left  hand,  white  and  nerveless,  with  the 
black  dirt  under  the  finger-nails  showing  like  paint  against  the 
blanched  flesh,  peeped  from  the  end  of  the  square  wooden  box 
that  enclosed  his  arm.  The  inevitable  black  scarf,  changed  to 
white  on  Sundays,  supported  this  arrangement  in  a  horizontal 
position.     Mary  watched  him  every  day  for  a  week  when  she 

23 


24  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

picked  lettuce  in  the  long,  narrow  garden,  or  nursed  her  baby  in 
the  porch.  And  then,  on  the  day  she  wrote  the  letter  to  her 
mistress,  she  passed  him  to  reach  the  pillar-box  that  was  built 
into  the  brickwork  of  the  last  cottage  in  the  row. 

"  Mornin',  Mary  Higgs,"  he  said,  nodding. 

Mary  stopped,  startled,  looked  to  see  if  he  were  serious  in 
his  geniality,  and  then  replied,  quietly: 

"  Good  mornin',  Mister  'Erbert."  Then  she  went  on,  dropping 
her  letter  into  the  box,  and  returned. 

"  'Ope  your  arm's  better,  Mister  'Erbert." 

"  Oh,  slow  an'  sure,  slow  an'  sure,  Mary.     'Ow's  yourself?  " 

"  Nicely  thanks ;  mustn't  grumble." 

That  was  the  gist  of  it  for  some  weeks.  Mister  Herbert  de- 
veloped a  latent  genius  for  tact.  This  is  easier  in  the  country, 
where  words  mean  something,  and  everybody  knows  what  you 
mean.     For  instance,  on  Sunday  morning: 

"  You  ought  to  go,  just  t'  show  you're  not  unthankful!  " 

The  church  bell  clanked  in  the  distance,  and  Mary's  face 
lighted  up. 

"Oh,  I'm  not  that,  Mister  'Erbert!  'E's  been  that  kind  you 
couldn't  believe." 

"  That's  'im.  Never  seems  to  see  nothink.  Same  wi'  me. 
Knows  I  'ate  to  'ave  people  jaw  about  me  arm.  'E's  what  I  call 
a  Christian." 

"  So  do  I." 

"  Don't  matter  what  it  is,  a  broken  arm  or  —  or  a  broken  'art, 
eh?  All  the  same  to  'im.  Good  steel  all  through.  No  Yankee 
malleable  in  him."  Mary  nodded,  and  he  went  on,  "  That's  why 
I  say  —  you  ought  to  go.     I  been  twice." 

"  I  will  then,"  said  Mary. 

German  science  has  doubtless  full  and  sufficient  theories  to 
account  for  the  novel  ideas  in  Mr.  Herbert  Gooderich's  head. 
Perhaps  his  tactful  and  philosophical  nerve  centres  lay  in  his 
right  brain,  and  the  enforced  use  of  his  left  hand  and  arm  de- 
veloped them.  Perhaps  that  is  why  so  many  right-handed  folk 
are  difficult  to  get  on  with  while  they  have  their  health.  Perhaps 
it  is  only  nonsense,  and  the  real  reason  was  that  a  rather  lonely, 
idle,  middle-aged  invalid  found  something  attractive,  something 
ineffably  romantic,  in  Mary's  plight. 

Mary,  too,  was  in  an  unusual  mood  since  her  first  word  with 
Mr.  Gooderich.     She  had  begun  to  realise  the  worldly  side  of  her 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  25 

position.  Very  gradually  it  formed  itself  in  her  mind.  Towards 
the  baker's  young  man  in  the  Colonies  she  felt  nothing  save  a 
vague  dislike.  She  was  quite  useless,  from  the  weekly  news- 
paper's "  betrayed-girl's-desperate-act  "  point  of  view.  A  certain 
refinement  of  soul  made  her  feel  that  if  she  was  unfit  to  be  any 
man's  wife,  he  was  unfit  to  be  any  girl's  husband,  especially  hers. 
His  dominion  over  her  vanished  with  himself.  He  was  too  brisk, 
he  had  too  much  surface  and  too  little  depth  to  hold  her  as  long 
as  that  refinement  streaked  her  nature.  So  she  waited,  wonder- 
ing, watching  the  girl-baby. 

Congratulations  upon  the  abandonment  of  the  square  box  from 
his  arm  marked  a  period  in  their  acquaintance.  The  black  silk 
scarf  was  still  in  use,  but,  with  care,  the  arm  was  got  into  the 
coat-sleeve  —  when  he  wore  a  coat.  It  was  much  pleasanter  in 
shirt-sleeves,  reading  the  rapturous  and  scholarly  racing  critiques 
in  the  Morning  Leader,  and  smoking  a  colouring  clay. 

"  Back  to  the  bench  soon,"  he  assured  her. 

"  You'll  be  glad  to,  I  expect,"  she  answered. 

"Well,  p'raps  so,  p'raps  so.     'Ow's  the  young  woman  ?  " 

To  such  a  stage  had  they  attained  when  Mary  received  an- 
other letter  from  her  mistress.  The  stockbroker  had  done  well, 
solidly  well,  for  two  years,  and  when  people  in  North  London  do 
well,  they  move  a  little  further  North.  You  go  up,  you  see,  and 
moving  is  a  small  matter.  To  pantechnicon  yourself  across  to 
Putney  or  Croydon  is  like  going  to  Samoa  or  Venezuela,  and  the 
cost  is  terrifying.  So  the  stockbroker's  new  address  was  North 
Finchley,  where  dear  gas  was  set  off  by  low  rates.  And  Mary 
was  asked  if  she  wished  to  come  back.  There  would  be  a  cook  as 
well,  now,  she  learned.     She  was  to  let  them  know  soon. 

"  I  'spect  I'll  be  off  out  of  this,  too,  soon,"  she  said  meditatively, 
and  Mr.  Gooderfch  leaned  interestedly  over  his  gate. 

M  That  so?     Old  shop?  "  he  asked. 

"  If  I  like.  Dunno  whether  to  —  or  not,"  she  mused,  moving  a 
pebble  with  the  toe  of  her  boot. 

"  Leave  the  young  woman  'ere,  I  s'pose  ?  " 

"  Oh,  'course  I'd  'ave  to  do  that.  'What  I  don't  like  about  the 
business." 

"  Awkward,  certingly.  I  been  wonderin'  you  never  thought 
of  gettin'  married." 

Mary  Higgs  deserted  the  pebble  and  looked  Mr.  Gooderich  in 
the  eye. 


26  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

"  It's  not  my  place  to  think  of  anythin'  o'  the  sort,  Mister 
'Erbert,  and  you  know  it." 

"  'Ow's  that?  I'm  speakin'  for  meself,  o'  course.  What's  to 
hinder?" 

"  I'll  thank  you  not  to  mention  it,  if  you  don't  mind."  And 
Mary  walked  away  towards  her  parents'  house.  But  Mr.  Good- 
erich  opened  the  gate  with  his  left  hand  and  came  after  her 
through  the  dusk. 

"  Jus'  listen  to  what  I've  got  to  say,  and  then  we'll  know 
where  we  are,  Mary.  Here's  me,  sick  o'  lodgin's  and  wantin'  a 
place  o'  me  own,  an'  here's  you,  as  you  are.  I  don't  see  nothing 
unreasonable  'bout  it.  I'm  old  enough  to  know  what's  good  for 
me,  eh?  Or  p'raps  that's  it,  too  old.  If  it  is,  say  so;  I'll  think 
none  the  worse  of  you." 

As  Mary  stood  by  her  gate,  swinging  it  to  and  fro  and  listen- 
ing to  Mr.  Gooderich's  remarks,  a  faint  wail  smote  her  ears. 

"There's  baby!"  she  said,  turning  to  him,  but  Mr.  Goode- 
rich's left  hand  held  her  arm. 

"  There's  baby,  as  you  say.  I  ain't  forgettin'  'er,  my  girl,  I 
ain't  forgettin'  'er.     Understand  ?  " 

The  faint  wail  rose  and  fell,  clucked  and  died,  rose  again. 

Mary  stood,  listening  to  the  sound,  looking  at  the  serious, 
bearded,  shirt-sleeved  man  who  still  held  her  arm.  Then  he  let 
her  go  without  a  word,  his  newly-found  genius  for  tact  reaching 
its  consummation  in  the  act. 


VI 

SUCH  were  the  pre-marital  days  of  the  small,  rather  untidy 
woman  getting  tea  in  the  kitchen  sitting-room  of  No.  12 
Maple  Avenue,  as  Bert  Gooderich  returned  from  the  great 
fight.  The  kitchen  was  the  most  important  room  in  the 
house.  You  went  round  by  the  back  way  —  that  is,  you  did  not 
enter  by  Maple  Avenue  at  all,  but  you  rounded  the  acute  angled 
garden  of  No.  14  at  the  bottom  of  the  road,  ascended  its  other 
side  and,  lifting  the  latch  in  a  door  further  up,  entered  the  bottom 
of  your  own  back  garden.  And  Bert  following  this  route,  his 
shoulders  hunched,  his  coat  collar  turned  up,  and  his  hands  deep 
in  his  pockets,  scuffled  through  the  deep  snow  of  the  garden, 
kicked  his  boots  against  the  iron  dust-bin  and  then  entered  the 
kitchen,  letting  in,  moreover,  a  gust  of  wind  and  snow. 

"  Oh,  so  you  are  back  then,  my  lad,"  said  his  mother. 

"  Can't  yer  see  me?  " 

"  Been  kept  in,  I  s'pose?  " 

Bert  responded  with  an  incoherent  growl  about  a  bit  of  a  lark 
and  subsided  into  a  slow  picking  of  boot-lace  knots  by  the  fire. 
On  the  other  side  of  the  fire-place  sat  his  elder  sister  Minnie, 
with  his  younger  brother  Hannibal.  Minnie  was  a  quiet  girl  of 
fourteen  now,  still  without  any  evil  bent,  as  far  as  her  mother 
could  see,  but  the  manner  in  which  she  regarded  her  elder  brother 
was  peculiar.  It  was  not  malevolent,  nor  was  it  amiable.  As 
her  mother  said  once,  Minnie  "  sized  you  up."  She  seemed  to 
be  forever  sizing-up.  It  was  a  cool,  balanced,  calculating  gaze. 
It  made  Bert  furious  at  times.  As  far  as  it  lay  with  children  to 
do  so,  they  detested  each  other.  Minnie  seemed  to  be  saying, 
"  And  what  may  your  superiority  consist  of?  "  She  had  it  then 
even  as  she  had  it,  more  consciously  and  challengingly  of  course,  in 
later  years.  I  remember  it  as  the  most  penetrating  thing  in 
the  world,  that  look,  when  I  think  of  her,  her  baby  brother  rest- 
ing between  her  knees  as  she  sat  in  a  low,  old  cane  chair  close 
to  the  coal  cupboard,  her  forefinger  chafing  at  the  corner  of  that 
huge  Grimm's  Fairy  Tales,  and  her  eyes  beneath  the  level  brows 
bent  towards  the  two  clumpish  boots  on  the  steel  fender,  where 

27 


28  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

the  balled  snow  was  melting  from  the  heels  all  over  the  bright 
metal.  To  be  quite  frank,  that  demeanour  of  Minnie's  was  a 
source  of  occasional  discomfort  to  her  mother.  She  was  too 
quiet,  Mrs.  Gooderich  thought.  There  was  no  "  mother  dear  " 
about  Minnie.  Later  on  she  adopted  the  phrase,  but  even  then 
only  in  a  sort  of  bantering  sarcastic  way,  as  when  Mrs.  Gooderich 
at  Barnet  Fair,  hearing  another  girl  urge  Minnie  to  come  and 
dance,  said,  "  I  didn't  know  you  could  dance,  Miss,"  and  Minnie, 
moving  away  witli  her  friend,  twittered,  "  Lots  o'  things  you  don't 
know,  mother  dear !  "  over  her  shoulder,  leaving  that  Hannibal- 
hampered  woman  with  an  uneasy  mind. 

House  work,  too,  was  another  trial  between  Minnie  and  her 
mother.  Clever  enough,  even  as  a  child,  nothing  perplexed  her 
level  brows,  but  the  will  was  lacking.  Beds  cannot  be  half  made. 
One  must  not  deal  flippantly  with  beds,  nor  should  the  slow  ab- 
sorption of  At  the  Mercy  of  Tiberius,  interfere  with  the  turning- 
out  of  rooms.  The  American  woman  who  lived  next  door  but  one 
listened  with  patience  to  Mrs.  Gooderich  on  this  point.  "  If  she 
was  my  child,  I'd  turn  her  over  my  knee  and  give  her  a  good 
spanking,"  she  replied  incisively,  but  even  the  un-English  vul- 
garity of  the  suggestion  failed  to  conceal  from  the  artisan's  wife 
the  wild  impracticableness  of  it.  You  might  as  well  talk  of 
spanking  the  Empress  of  Russia,  as  Minnie  Gooderich.  She 
was  like  that,  if  you  understand  me  ? 

At  the  Higher  Grade  Girls'  School,  where  Minnie  acquired 
the  complicated  erudition  supplied  by  the  London  School  Board 
and  the  Science  and  Art  Department,  there  was  never  any  trouble. 
She  slid  from  standard  to  standard  without  noise  or  clamour, 
writing  unexceptional  essays  in  a  beautiful  variation  of  the  verti- 
cal angular  caligraphy  prescribed  for  her  by  those  authorities, 
making  exquisite  little  coloured  drawings  of  chemical  experiments, 
doing  simple  equations  in  a  manner  quite  void  of  offence.  Miss 
Shelly,  her  teacher,  had  moments  of  rare  exultation  when  she 
thought  of  Minnie  Gooderich,  mistaking  that  young  person  for 
one  of  her  own  simple  equations,  for  Miss  Shelly  was  dominated 
by  the  Good,  the  Beautiful,  and  the  True,  and  had  a  glorious 
belief  in  human  nature.  Indeed,  you  cannot  censure  Miss  Shelly, 
if  you  can  picture  to  yourself  the  self-possessed  Minnie  at  her 
desk,  with  the  embryonic  Hannibal  at  her  side,  her  hair  in  one 
thick  dark  brown  plait  with  an  Oxford  blue  bow,  the  cream-col- 
oured brows  bent  to  her  tasks,  her  blotless  immaculate  tasks. 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  29 

She  never  impressed  you  that  she  was  "  not  like  other  girls." 
She  had  nothing  in  common  with  Elinor  Challis,  the  chemist's 
daughter,  who  fainted  in  July,  won  a  scholarship  in  September, 
and  died  of  cardiac  syncope  in  the  following  April.  Nor  did  she 
remind  you  of  Muriel  Paston,  whose  father  sold  linoleum,  cur- 
tains, and  bankrupt  stock  in  the  High  Road  (old  Paston,  who 
would  go  to  prison  rather  than  vaccinate  his  children).  But 
Minnie's  mother,  at  the  time  of  which  I  am  now  writing,  had  come 
to  the  conclusion  that  she  was,  all  the  same,  very  unlike  other 
girls.  She  had  in  her  something  imponderable  and  elusive,  her 
quiet  orderly  advance  through  suburban  childhood  had  in  it  some- 
thing inexorably  logical  about  it.  Her  devotion  to  little  Hanni- 
bal was  not  devotion  at  all.  Little  Hannibal  remained,  in  her 
charge,  in  a  sort  of  soporific  catalepsy,  he  was  "  a  remarkably 
quiet  child  "  with  Minnie.  To  the  gradually  opening  receptivity 
of  little  Hannibal,  the  figure  of  his  sister  was  woven  into  the 
wood-cut  kaleidoscope  of  Grimm's  illustrations.  She  was  a  sort 
of  fairy  stepmother,  who  froze  his  soul  with  a  look  and  taught 
him  to  say  strange  things.  He  had  two  other  fairy  stepmothers, 
Minnie's  two  friends,  strong-limbed,  freckled,  plumpish  hoydens, 
who  screamed  with  laughter  when  little  Hanny  repeated  those 
strange  things. 

Bert  Gooderich  did  not  regard  her  as  a  fairy  at  all.  He 
knew,  as  he  tugged  off'  his  sodden  boots,  that  Minnie's  homework 
was  "  done,"  done  with  that  exasperating  efficiency  that  you  can- 
not struggle  against.  He  knew  also  that  his  own  would  never  be 
done.  The  smudged  and  crinkled  copybook  in  which  the  work 
was  set  out,  was  lying  quite  probably  in  the  slush  of  the  trench 
on  Trinity  Green.  The  inevitable  row  with  old  Piper  assumed 
appalling  dimensions  in  his  mind.  He  had  always  heretofore 
presented  some  sort  of  unintelligible  riot  of  ink  and  paper  in  lieu 
of  correct  answers.  No  work  at  all  necessitated  explanations, 
and  explanations  invariably  preceded  hard  caning  and  incarcera- 
tion. Old  Piper's  heart  was  tender  and  he  loathed  corporal 
punishment;  but  Bert's  sullenly  protesting  taciturnity  (the  cor- 
relative of  Minnie's  self-possession)  roused  the  primordial  devil 
in  old  Piper,  and  he  laid  on,  short  sharp  blows  raining  down  pas- 
sionately upon  the  hunched  burly  shoulders.  .  .  . 

And  then  old  Piper,  sweating  a  little  about  the  temples,  would 
try  to  resume  the  nineteenth  century  and  the  lesson. 

Such  households  as  the  Gooderichs  drag  along  in  a  mysterious 


30  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

fashion.  It  is  useless  to  calculate  two  pounds  a  week  as  a  hun- 
dred a  year.  When  you  pay  your  rent  in  shillings  per  week, 
when  you  get  your  coal  at  one  and  threepence  a  hundredweight, 
and  you  buy  your  provisions  on  Saturday  night,  you  must  adopt 
a  quite  different  arithmetic.  You  must  pay  expensively  for  every- 
thing. Week  after  week  the  furniture  people,  the  sewing-ma- 
chine people,  the  wringer  people,  the  insurance  people,  the  piano 
people,  each  take  a  little  nibble  from  the  thirty  shillings  left  after 
the  rent  is  paid. 

You  buy  "  young  Herbert "  iron-shod  boots  to  make  them  wear, 
and  the  oilcloth  and  stair-carpet  are  worn  out  before  you  have 
paid  for  them.  You  live  on  in  North  London  because  the  rents 
are  low  and  it  is  expensive  to  move,  and  you  pay  double  for  gas. 
You  change  back  to  oil  lamps  and  start  another  little  so-much-a- 
week  to  the  hardware  stores.  You  try  to  make  a  little  by  keeping 
a  few  chickens  and  the  neighbours  complain  to  the  landlord,  who 
gives  you  notice.  You  let  the  front  bedroom  to  a  commission- 
agent,  who  disappears  with  three  months'  rent  in  arrears.  And 
all  the  time  it  is  work,  work,  work.  You  get  into  the  way  of 
nagging,  too. 

It  must  not  be  supposed  that  Mrs.  Gooderich  was  insensible 
of  her  good  fortune.  Quite  unconscious  of  any  irony,  she  was 
grateful  that  she  should  be  permitted  to  slave  in  the  ranks  of  re- 
spectable women  instead  of  living  a  life  of  joyous  venture  among 
the  unclassed.  "  What  would  have  become  of  Minnie  ?  "  she 
would  think,  not  deeming  it  worth  while  to  ask  further,  "  What's 
becoming  of  Minnie  anyway?" 

For  Mrs.  Gooderich,  like  many  driven  mothers,  imagined  that, 
barring  that  incalculable  element  that  made  her  child  strange, 
she  knew  all  about  her.  She  ignored  the  long  evenings  when 
Minnie  was  out  with  her  friends,  she  forgot  the  unchaperoned 
afternoons  in  Hadley  Woods.  The  news  that  Minnie  could 
dance  is  a  sample  of  the  awakening. 

And  Miss  Shelly  was  at  a  loss,  and  had  an  awakening.  It 
was  one  day  in  the  dinner-hour,  when  many  girls  would  bring  a 
packet  of  sandwiches  and  a  cake  in  their  satchel  and  eat  it 
near  the  stove.  In  those  days  you  had  to  come  long  distances 
to  school  in  Wood  Green,  for  the  outer  ramparts  of  London 
Education  were  then  precariously  upheld  by  small  and  desultory 
"  academies  "  with  fees  and  French,  principals  who  took  select 
boarders,  and  assistants  who  took  their  departure  without  settling 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  31 

their  laundry  bills.  And  Miss  Shelly,  who  had  lodgings  at 
Stoke  Newington,  lunched  at  a  confectioner's  in  the  High  Road 
and  afterwards  sat  by  the  stove  reading.  She  was  a  fluffy-haired 
little  person,  very  neat  about  the  wrists  and  ankles,  and  a  relent- 
less self-educator.  And  she  sat  there,  her  neat  shoes  up  on  the 
stove-rail,  reading  Mary  Wollstonecraft's  Vindication  of  the 
Rights  of  Women,  while  Minnie  and  her  two  friends  sat  near  by 
on  one  of  the  forms,  giggling  over  the  open  eyes  and  mouth  of 
little  Hannibal.  At  least  the  other  girls  giggled.  Minnie,  ever 
alert  as  to  Miss  Shelly 's  proximity,  bent  over  the  child  and  whis- 
pered, then  the  two  girls  would  bend  nearer  and  Hannibal  would 
be  obliterated  by  three  heads  of  hair.  And  then  a  throttled 
squeal,  a  giggle,  a  scuffle  of  feet,  perhaps  a  choke,  with  use  of  a 
handkerchief,  and  Miss  Shelly  would  look  at  the  stove  intro- 
spectively  for  a  moment.  What  were  those  girls  romping  about? 
But  it  was  little  Hannibal  himself  who  created  drama  out  of 
their  idle  giggling. 

"  Go,"  remarked  little  Hannibal  with  agonising  distinctness  — 
"  Go  to — 'Ell!  "  and  Miss  Shelly  leapt  to  her  feet  as  though  she 
had  been  shot.  One  of  the  girls  gave  a  convulsive  whoop,  choked, 
and  there  was  a  frightful  silence. 

"  Minnie  Gooderich,"  said  Miss  Shelly,  icily,  sitting  down. 
"  Come  here  to  me." 

It  would  have  given  Bert  considerable  satisfaction  to  have 
seen  his  sister  for  the  next  twenty  minutes,  for  if  ever  Minnie 
felt  uncomfortable,  it  was  then.  She  really  respected  Miss  Shelly, 
and  the  knowledge  that  Miss  Shelly  no  longer  believed  in  her  was 
humiliating. 

No  brazening  could  stand  against  the  young  teacher's  rigid 
indignation,  her  awful  horror  of  a  girl  who  could  deliberately 
teach  her  little  brother  to  swear.  (To  argue  that  little  Hannibal 
would  swear  anyway,  in  a  few  years'  time,  would  have  been 
futile.)  It  was  the  sudden  realising  of  the  miry  depths  in 
Minnie  Gooderich,  hitherto  unsuspected,  that  appalled  Miss 
Shelly.  She  was  very  pale  and  preoccupied  during  afternoon 
school,  and  sat  for  some  time  before  a  letter  beginning: 

Dear  Mrs.  Gooderich, 

It  is  my  painful  duty  to  inform  you  .  .  . 

But  she  got  no   further.     She  knew  enough  of  children  to 


82  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

realise  that  Minnie  would  care  but  little  for  her  mother's  remarks. 
And  eventually  she  tore  the  letter  up.  But  the  Good,  the  Beauti- 
ful, and  the  True  had  received  a  shattering  blow.  If  only  Min- 
nie had  seemed  to  care  at  all!  She  had  been  merely  apologetic, 
the  cool  cream  of  her  rather  sallow  face  had  coloured  slightly, 
and  her  chin  had  gone  out  and  up  instead  of  sinking  on  her  breast 
when  she  said  she  was  "  very  sorry." 

As  spring  advanced  the  Science  and  Art  Department  advanced 
too,  and  prostrated  the  unfortunate  teachers  in  London  Board 
Schools  with  a  Botany  Syllabus.  Where  possible,  Seventh  Stand- 
ard girls  were  to  attend  on  certain  afternoons  at  the  Boys'  School, 
for  Elementary  Botany.  Bert  Gooderich  received  the  informa- 
tion impassively  because  he  had  never  heard  of  the  thing  before, 
but  he  did  sit  up  in  a  species  of  astonished  bashfulness  when  he 
beheld  about  a  dozen  big  girls,  with  Minnie  among  them,  file  into 
the  room  one  afternoon  in  April  and  take  their  seats,  with  much 
arranging  of  skirts  and  adjustment  of  elbows,  on  some  vacant 
forms.  And  little  Hannibal  was  with  them,  the  most  astonished 
of  them  all. 

"  The  'ole  bloomin'  fam'ly !  "  said  Bert  to  his  neighbour.  "  If 
my  mother  comes  .  .  .  lummy ! " 


VII 

LITTLE  Hannibal  was  growing,  but  I  think  this  Botany 
Class  was  one  of  the  most  vivid  pictures  of  his  early 
childhood,  the  picture  that  detached  itself  most  com- 
pletely from  the  dull-grey  haze  of  domestic  memories.  I 
want  you  to  imagine  that  rather  diminutive  child  of  seven,  buried 
away  among  those  strong-limbed,  hoydenish  girls,  peering  out 
sideways  at  the  boys  over  the  gangway,  and  staring  at  the  old 
man  who  made  curious  drawings  on  the  blackboard  with  coloured 
chalks.  His  impressions  of  the  boys  were  shadowy.  There  were 
so  many  of  them,  all  in  rows  along  the  desks,  each  with  a  short- 
hand notebook,  taking  notes  of  what  the  man  said.  He  watched 
Minnie's  operations  with  interest  for  a  time,  when  he  discovered 
the  walls  of  the  schoolroom.  They  were  wonderful  walls  to 
Hannibal.  There  were  vast  shining  charts  of  fierce  lions  and 
tigers,  coiling  serpents,  and  amorphous  creatures  with  satirical 
names  like  ornithorhynchus  and  armadillo.  There  was  a  full- 
length  figure  of  a  dusky  person  with  a  spear,  a  turban  on  his  head, 
and  (apparently)  another  turban  round  his  waist.  A  mild-look- 
ing steam-engine,  in  blue  and  yellow,  occupied  another  chart,  but 
Hannibal  hardly  noticed  it.  He  gazed  with  a  peculiar  delight 
upon  the  Tonic-Sol-Fa  chart.  He  could  find  endless  satisfaction 
in  outline.  Even  his  mother's  stunted  intelligence  had  observed 
this  trait  in  little  Hanny.  He  loved  the  feel  of  a  smooth  square 
card-board  box,  and  the  stark  black  letters  of  the  vocal  scale  at- 
tracted him  in  the  same  way.  How  fat  and  black  they  were! 
And  you  could  read  them  any  way;  up  or  down,  to  and  fro,  it 
was  all  the  same.  The  fettering  sequence  of  C-A-T  and  D-O-G 
became  fatiguing,  Hannibal  found.  And  then  he  twisted  his  head 
a  little  more  and  looked  over  the  boys'  heads,  and  saw  the  largest 
and  newest  and  shiniest  chart  of  all. 

It  was  a  diagram,  in  all  the  splendour  of  Oriental  colouring, 
of  the  Ideal  Plant.  There  was  a  wonderful  grey  root  straying 
symmetrically  into  the  most  permeable  brown  earth,  with  a 
straight  tapering  stem  soaring  to  a  heaven  of  varnished  roller 

33 


34  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

at  the  top.  Arranged  in  a  rigid  helical  progression  were  branches 
of  broad  green  leaves,  branches  of  narrow  brown  leaves,  branches 
of  oddly-shaped  leaves,  until  at  the  very  top  of  the  stem  was  a 
most  miraculous  flower,  with  a  complete  green  calyx,  a  complete 
red  corona  and  exemplary  pistil  and  stamens  of  gorgeous  yel- 
low. It  was  an  amazing  production,  that  Ideal  Plant.  It  made 
you  feel  keenly  what  a  botched,  un-science-and-art-like  job  the 
Creator  had  made  of  his  Flora  anyway,  with  nobody  to  show  him 
how.  But  it  did  not  make  Hannibal  feel  that  way,  because  he 
knew  very  little  about  either  God  or  Botany.  He  revelled  in  the 
clean  hard  outlines,  the  flawless  symmetry,  of  that  Ideal  Plant, 
and  rejoiced  very  frankly  in  the  black  lettering.  For  each  part 
of  this  plant  was  stabbed  to  the  heart  with  a  black  arrow,  and 
each  arrow  was  labelled  with  the  name  of  that  particular  part. 

He  listened  at  times  to  the  old  bearded  man  with  the  shiny 
forehead.  In  later  years  Hannibal  always  associated  shiny  var- 
nished surfaces  with  Botany.  As  the  old  man  raised  his  arm 
to  draw  on  the  board,  his  coat  sleeve  fell  back  and  the  light 
glistened  on  his  shiny  cuff.  And  the  desks  where  the  girls  sat 
were  of  richly  marked  pitch-pine,  heavily  varnished.  And  Min- 
nie's new  text-book  shone,  glazed  and  tooled  till  the  eyes  ached 
as  they  rested  on  it.  Elementary  Botany.  What  garlands  and 
chains  of  letters  there  were  in  this  great  room ! 

It  was  a  rich  and  splendid  spring  day,  and  the  amber-col- 
oured blinds  were  drawn  over  the  tall  windows  as  the  sun  swung 
round  and  looked  in.  And  spring  was  busy  in  the  schoolroom: 
seeds  fell  into  the  soft  rich  soil  of  boy  and  girl  hearts,  and  small 
ideal  plants  were  beginning  to  grow  here  and  there,  while  the 
old  bearded  man  with  the  polished  forehead  talked,  and  drew 
on  the  board. 

Bert  Gooderich  sat  next  to  Flying  Machine  Brown  in  the 
back  row,  unutterably  bored  by  this  new  onslaught  of  South  Ken- 
sington. At  the  back  of  his  mind  lay  a  vague  hatred  of  that 
invisible  but  relentless  tormentor.  In  some  cases  the  perpetual 
disturbance  of  the  curriculum  was  beneficial.  It  aroused  the  teach- 
ers, maddened  them  to  heroic  efforts  of  brain-culture,  drove  some 
of  them  into  journalism  and  private  schools,  some  of  them  to  mar- 
riage and  emigration.  Often,  too,  it  awakened  long  dormant  in- 
telligences among  the  boys  and  girls.  Lads  who  had  droned 
through  Euclid  and  Scale-drawing  blazed  into  activity  when  old 
Piper  began  German;  others  astonished  him  by  an  undreamt-of 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  35 

cleverness  at  Electricity  and  Magnetism.  It  was  curious  to  watch 
the  amazement  dawning  in  the  mind  of  a  boy  who  had  outstripped 
the  others  in  Shorthand,  as  he  watched  some  stenographic  failure 
leaping  into  fame  in  model-drawing  or  chemistry.  But  Bert 
Gooderich  and  Flying  Machine  Brown  sat  at  the  back  of  it  all, 
blank  deterrent  failures,  drags  on  the  wheel,  without  hope  or  am- 
bition. Even  old  Piper,  with  his  marvellous  intuition  of  the 
child-soul,  flogged  them  and  broke  up  the  silly  little  bits  of  mech- 
anism that  poor  Brown  secreted  in  his  desk.  Brown  would  sit 
silent  for  the  rest  of  the  day,  and  then  slip  off  home  and  become 
another  being  altogether.  As  long  as  he  could  see  he  would  file 
and  tinker  and  drill,  making  some  other  purposeless  ill-finished 
contrivance,  hampered  by  lack  of  tools  and  material  and,  most  of 
all,  knowledge.  And  on  Saturdays  he  and  Bert  would  walk  far 
away  to  the  Seven  Sisters  Road,  where  there  was  a  model-engine 
shop,  and  Brown  would  sigh  as  he  stared  at  the  beautiful  little 
engines,  all  gleaming  brass  and  copper,  for  they  were  so  ex- 
pensive. And  then  he  would  get  "  an  idea,"  "  a  patent "  they 
called  it,  and  for  a  week  he  would  dream  and  tinker,  tinker  and 
dream,  and  old  Piper  would  lay  on  with  that  thin  angry  cane  of 
his.  But  it  was  never  any  use.  Nothing  could  convince  Brown 
that  Botany  and  model  drawing  and  German  were  more  impor- 
tant to  a  lad  who  was  to  become  an  oil-shop  errand-boy  than 
tinkering  and  dreaming  of  flying  machines  and  Jules  Verne  sub- 
marines. And  afterwards,  when  I  saw  him  trudging  patiently 
along  Mayes  Road  or  Maple  Avenue  with  a  basket  of  soap  and 
candles,  and  a  can  of  paraffin,  his  blue  apron  smeared  with  oil 
and  powdered  with  drysaltery,  I  used  to  think  that  Flying  Ma- 
chine Brown  was  right. 

Gradually,  as  the  quiet  hum  of  the  school  and  the  amber  light 
lulled  his  senses,  little  Hannibal  leaned  his  head  against  Ethel 
James's  shoulder  and  fell  asleep. 


VIII 

BERT  GOODERICH'S  great  day  came  when  he  least  ex- 
pected it,  came  when  he  had  resigned  himself  to  his  in- 
evitable black  ignominy  on  examination  days.  Colonel 
Corinth-Squires,  with  his  fierce  grey  moustache  and  gold- 
rimmed  glasses,  was  examining  the  school.  I  am  at  a  loss  to  ex- 
plain why  a  retired  military  gentleman  should  be  deputed  to  pro- 
nounce upon  a  school-teacher's  efficiency;  but  there  he  was,  and 
there,  for  all  I  know,  he  may  be  still.  Even  Flying  Machine 
Brown  came  away  with  fugitive  honours  in  spelling.  He  was 
the  only  one  who  made  anything  out  of  "  misled  "  that  was  not 
palpably  wrong,  and  stimulated  by  such  unimagined  erudition,  he 
put  up  his  hand  when  Alder,  the  clever  boy  in  the  front  desk 
Who  collected  the  books  and  was  considered  a  rank  favourite, 
failed  with  "  ecstasy."  The  Senior  Assistant  Teacher  was 
frankly  amazed  that  Brown,  alone  of  all  his  class,  should  be  able 
to  spell  "  ecstasy."  Brown  himself  was  a  little  dazed  by  his  own 
luck.  But  perhaps  Flying  Machine  Brown  knew  more  about 
ecstasy  than  the  Senior  Assistant  Teacher.  He  had  more  of  it  in 
his  life,  anyhow. 

But  Bert  Gooderich  looked  on  at  his  friend's  triumphant  prog- 
ress in  consternation.  Brown  was  playing  him  false.  Brown 
had  never  shown  any  learning  in  class  before.  He  was  mak- 
ing up  his  mind  to  "  have  it  out "  with  Brown  afterwards,  when 
he  heard  the  Colonel  asking  each  boy  what  he  would  like  to  be. 
Now  this  was  a  question  Bert  could  answer  with  a  rapidity  and 
conviction  unusual  even  in  clever  boys.  No  one  had  ever  asked 
him  this  question  before,  and  he  sat  tense  and  tingling  all  over  as 
he  listened  to  the  answers.  Alas !  the  boys  in  the  clever  phalanx 
were  not  satisfactory  in  their  ideas.  Most  of  them  did  not  know 
what  they  wanted  to  be.  One  of  them,  in  despair,  decided  that 
the  question  was  not  fair,  they  had  never  been  taught  any  an- 
swer to  it.  Now  and  again  came  a  definite  call.  Macpherson, 
who  had  been  under  an  operation  early  in  life,  wanted  to  be  a 
doctor ;  Harvey,  whose  parents  kept  a  sweet-shop  in  the  Finsbury 

36 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  37 

Road,  was  going  to  be  a  barrister;  and  Hillier,  who  could  draw, 
voted  for  architecture.  But  these  were  only  the  few  sparks  of 
ambition  flying  up  from  a  general  smoky  mass  of  uncertainty. 
Flying  Machine  Brown  brought  an  almost  unbearable  amount  of 
notice  upon  himself,  for  every  one  turned  round  and  looked  at 
him  as  though  they  had  never  seen  him  before,  when  he  said, 
"  Ingineer,  sir,"  and  the  Senior  Assistant  Teacher  smiled  cruelly 
and  grimly.  And  then  it  was  Bert's  turn,  and  everybody,  having 
turned  round  to  look  at  Brown,  remained  so,  looking  at  Bert. 
But  Bert  saw  only  the  Colonel,  and  when  the  keen  eyes  behind 
the  gold-rimmed  glasses  fixed  on  him,  something  inside  him  made 
Bert  stand  up  stiffly,  his  chin  up  and  his  shoulders  pressed  down 
and  back.  *'  Soldier,  sir"  said  Bert  Gooderich,  and  waited, 
trembling,  for  the  end  of  the  world. 

But  there  was  no  roar  of  derision.  The  Senior  Assistant 
Teacher  looked  curiously  at  the  little  tableau,  the  fierce  old 
martinet  looking  straight  Into  the  soul  of  the  unkempt  lout  at 
the  back  of  the  class.  He  felt  as  if  this  was  not  his  business. 
It  suddenly  occurred  to  him  that  the  Colonel  was  a  soldier. 
He  had  never  realised  it  before. 

"  And  by  heavens  you  shall  be !  "  shouted  the  old  Colonel, 
staring  at  Bert's  rigid  figure  and  obstinate  face.  And  to  hide 
his  emotion  he  turned  to  the  papers  on  the  teacher's  desk. 

The  examination  was  over,  and  Bert  Gooderich  went  home  in  a 
trance. 


IX 

THE  usual  sudden  emergence  into  young  womanhood  hap- 
pened when  Minnie  was  seventeen,  and  almost  imme- 
diately afterwards  she  had  a  young  man.  "  Boys " 
ceased  to  curvette  on  cycles  about  the  end  of  the  Maple 
Avenue,  and  Minnie  herself  no  longer  held  court  at  the  back 
entrance  in  Wood  Lane.  The  lengthening  of  the  dresses  to 
within  nine  inches  of  her  shoes,  the  acquisition  of  a  Japanese 
silk  blouse,  and  the  abandonment  of  a  plait  for  a  Langtry  coiffure 
made  Minnie  impossible  to  "  boys."  For  two  years  she  had  been 
working  as  a  "  retoucher  "  in  the  big  photo  factory  up  the  hill 
by  the  "  Cimitry  "  and  had  learned  all  there  was  to  know  about 
the  positive  side  of  life.  Her  plain-spoken  comments  paralysed 
her  mother,  who  occasionally  weighed  her  daughter's  soul  against 
the  twelve  shillings  a  week  paid  for  retouching.  But  the  latter 
won  as  a  rule.  Minnie  was  quite  able  to  take  care  of  herself. 
Her  temperament  was  "  difficult,"  and  the  casual  philanderers 
who  worked  at  the  factory  could  make  nothing  of  her.  One 
young  man  who  followed  her  home  after  dark  appeared  next  day 
with  a  piece  of  plaster  on  his  cheek,  and  proved  very  reticent 
about  the  adventure.  This  was  Minnie's  own  fault,  for  she 
chose  her  girl-friends  among  those  whose  reputations  were  con- 
tinually under  discussion  at  the  chloride  troughs,  and  who  were 
never  seen  at  the  corrugated  mission  near  the  railway.  The 
philanderers  felt  the  baulk  keenly  because  they  were  fastidiously 
careful  to  leave  respectable  girls  in  peace.  Many  of  them  were 
married  men,  with  girls  like  Minnie  of  their  own. 

But  the  advent  of  the  young  man  put  an  end  to  all  this,  and 
Mrs.  Gooderich  sang  a  Nunc  Dimittis  in  her  heart.  After  all 
her  anxiety  —  for  she  had  been  anxious  about  her  love-child  all 
her  life  —  Minnie  was  going  to  be  a  nice,  respectable,  refined 
young  woman.  The  young  man  was  stooping,  Mrs.  Gooderich 
thought,  for  he  was  a  coal  agent's  clerk,  and  dwelt  daily  in  a 
small  office  near  the  station,  an  office  with  a  mahogany  truck 
full  of  best  household  in  the  window.     He  was  a  fattish,  serious- 

38 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  39 

looking  young  man,  careful,  neat,  church-going,  insured.  Minnie 
was  lucky.     So  many  girls,  etc. 

Minnie  was  calm  as  ever  at  this  time.  The  favour  of  the 
young  man's  acquaintance  was  won  tritely  enough.  For  a  short 
time  he  had  been  an  inmate  of  that  spare  bedroom,  and  Minnie 
sometimes  made  his  tea.  It  was  not  good  tea,  and  I  take  it  as 
a  sign  of  infatuation  that  the  tea,  as  made  by  Minnie,  did  not 
drive  him  to  the  world  again.  But  when  he  had  taken  her  for 
several  walks,  and  had  returned  from  one  of  those  walks,  with 
an  understanding,  the  innate  delicacy  of  the  coal  agent's  clerk 
prompted  him  to  seek  lodgings  elsewhere.  It  would  look  better, 
it  was  agreed.  The  stigma  attached  to  "  lodgers  "  in  the  suburbs 
was  intolerable  to  a  serious  young  man.  And  then  came  the 
ring. 

Minnie  was  pleased  with  the  ring.  She  had  a  number  of 
spurious  ornaments,  the  usual  trash  that  young  girls  carry  on 
their  wrists  and  neck  and  fingers,  but  this  was  a  thing  of  price, 
four  pounds  ten.  He  had  kissed  her  when  he  had  slipped  it  on, 
on  the  teak  seat  that  used  to  snuggle  against  the  old  red  wall 
opposite  the  Cherry  Tree  Inn,  and  Minnie  submitted.  I  do 
not  know  if  it  will  explain  anything  of  Minnie's  character  to 
the  reader,  but  to  me  it  is  significant  that  kissing  was  abhorrent 
to  her.  And  since  serious  young  men  with  small  bank  accounts 
think  kissing  is  indispensable  and  proper  and  delightful,  this 
diffidence  on  Minnie's  part  was  a  source  of  microscopic  estrange- 
ments, though  nothing  else  could  have  held  him  so  effectually 
in  her  toils.  "  Your  breath  does  smell ! "  she  had  remarked 
once,  with  terrible  calmness,  and  he  had  been  stricken  to  a  red, 
angry  silence.  He  was  not  an  imaginative  man,  and  he  was 
quite  incompetent  to  deal  with  a  girl  like  Minnie.  He  did  not 
realise  that  a  fancy  waistcoat  and  a  well-groomed  head  of  hair 
are  almost  negligible  factors  in  the  great  game,  that  a  young 
woman  is  a  human  being  with  all  five  senses  cruelly  alive. 

Another  rock  on  which  everything  was  almost  wrecked  was 
his  dislike  of  her  employment.  He  wanted  her  to  chuck  the 
photo  factory,  "  since  she  was  engaged,"  and  Minnie's  eyes  opened 
wide  with  astonishment.  "Why,  if  you  please?"  she  asked 
with  icy  politeness.  And  he  had  mumbled  something  about  "  the 
fellers  up  there."  Mrs.  Gooderich,  too,  incautiously  seconded 
this  motion,  and  Minnie  explained  that  her  intention  was  to  re- 
main in  the  photo  factory  as  long  as  she  pleased;  if  they  didn't 


40  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

like  it,  they  could  lump  it,  so  there !     And  the  scheme  fell  through. 

Sometimes  the  young  man  wondered,  in  his  new  lodgings,  if 
he  were  not  brewing  trouble  for  himself,  Minnie  was  so  tem- 
peramentally different,  and  he  would  think,  "  Never  mind,  when 
we're  married,  she'll  settle  down  and  be  a  good  little  wifie." 

Bert  Gooderieh,  earning  his  living  at  the  local  furniture  em- 
porium, lived  his  life  very  much  apart  from  his  sister.  He  was 
surprised  enough  when  she  got  a  young  man,  it  is  true,  but  his 
mind  was  taken  up  with  other  matters.  He  was  going  into  the 
Army  very  soon,  and  you  cannot  expect  a  young  man  to  take 
much  interest  in  his  sister's  affairs.  Apart  from  a  detached, 
sarcastic  attitude,  assumed  only  at  home  towards  the  young  coal- 
agent's  clerk,  they  entered  not  at  all  into  Bert's  cosmos.  Bert 
offered  him  "  a  fag  "  once,  when  he  came  to  supper,  but  the  young 
man  did  not  smoke,  which  was  another  trait  that  Minnie  made 
into  a  painful  deficiency  of  manhood. 

"  Don't  smoke !  "  echoed  Bert,  from  the  middle  of  a  dense 
cloud  of  Wild  Woodbine.  "  Why,  you  ain't  born  yet,  then.  You 
don't  know  you're  alive,  mate." 

"You  be  quiet,  Bert,"  said  Minnie;  "you'd  be  better  with 
less  of  it." 

"  Oh !     What  about  you,  young  Min,  eh  ?  " 

The  young  man  looked  at  Bert  with  a  sudden  suspicion. 

"  Mind  your  own  business,"  said  Minnie. 

"  Ditto,  ditto,  ol'  sport,"  replied  her  brother,  and  dismissed 
the  matter  from  his  mind. 

But  the  young  man  could  not  so  dismiss  it.  He  had  that 
horror  of  girls  smoking  that  goes  with  his  environment.  He 
was  like  that.  The  only  women  he  had  ever  known  to  smoke 
were  the  decolletee  adventuresses  in  novels.  The  suspicion  that 
Minnie  might  smoke  in  secret  was  torture  to  him.  And  he  mused 
wretchedly,  as  he  walked  homeward,  what  might  she  not  do? 
What  did  he  know  of  her  whose  waist  he  held  nightly  on  the 
seats  distributed  about  the  lanes  of  Southgate,  whose  demure 
eyes  looked  him  over  and  sized  him  up  with  such  relentless  com- 
posure ? 

"  You're  not  treatin'  me  fairly,  darling,"  he  fretted  the  next 
evening.     "  Why  don't  you  be  straight  about  it?  " 

"  Oh  well ! "  she  squirmed,  and  moved  a  little  away  from 
him.     They  were  standing  on  a  wooded  footbridge  that  crossed 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  41 

a  wide  shallow  stream.  A  brougham  came  down  the  lane,  the 
two  brown  horses  lifting  their  feet  delicately  and  throwing 
fantastic  shadows  on  the  high  bank  at  the  side.  Within  they  saw 
a  man  and  a  woman,  beautifully  dressed,  bound  for  the  big 
house  behind  the  pond  up  the  hill.  As  the  carriage  rolled  slowly 
through  the  water  the  woman  leaned  towards  the  open  window 
and  saw  them  standing  side  by  side,  and  smiled.  And  Minnie 
grew  angry,  and  watched  the  carriage  glide  up  the  lane,  glide 
out  of  sight,  leaving  them  alone  again. 

"  I  think  it's  my  right,"  the  young  man  insisted. 

"Is  it?" 

"  To  be  straight,  yes.     Of  course,  if  you're  sick  of  it H 

**  I  didn't  say  I  was.     Only,  if  you  will  nag  so " 

"Who's  naggin'?  I'm  straight  with  you,  aren't  I?  Nobody 
can  say  I'm  not  patient  and  all  that." 

Minnie  was  thinking  of  the  brougham  and  the  girl  who  leaned 
out  and  smiled.  Why  could  not  she  have  luck  like  that?  To 
be  poor,  and  slave,  like  her  mother,  to  be  for  ever  darning  and 
cleaning  and  living  close!  She  had  not  smoked  a  cigarette  for 
years.  Even  when  she  had  done  so,  it  had  only  been  the  school- 
girl's dare-devil  desire  to  see  what  it  was  like.  If  the  wretched 
young  man  would  only  leave  her  alone,  she  would  possibly  never 
have  touched  them  again. 

"  Well,  it's  no  use  goin'  on  like  this,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice 
as  they  stood  at  the  gate  in  Maple  Avenue.  A  clear,  full  moon 
flooded  the  road  and  threw  sharp  black  shadows  of  the  trees 
on  the  roadway.  Across  the  way,  in  the  big  house  at  the  corner, 
they  could  see  the  family  at  supper  behind  the  great  plate-glass 
windows.  They  could  see  the  beautiful  room  hung  with  en- 
gravings, the  soft  pink  shades  of  the  candles  on  the  table 
illuminated  the  scene,  the  heads  bent  over  the  food,  the  swift 
skilful  servants  moving  round,  the  tall  clock  in  the  corner  with 
its  slow-moving  pendulum  of  gold.  The  gate  of  No.  12  creaked 
a  little  as  Minnie  moved  it  to  and  fro. 

"  I  must  have  an  understanding,"  he  added  firmly. 

"  Must  you  ? "  she  said  sharply,  turning  to  him  so 
that  he  quailed.  "  Well,  let's  go  indoors  and  you  shall  have 
it." 

"  Minnie !  "  he  said  appealingly,  but  she  walked  up  the  little 
tiled  path,  ignoring  him,  and  he  followed. 


42  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

Her  mother  sat  at  the  table  in  the  front  room,  sewing  by 
the  light  of  a  smelling  oil-lamp.  Mary  Gooderich  had  changed 
greatly  in  the  course  of  eighteen  years. 

"  Sit  down,  dear.  I'll  get  supper  in  a  minute."  She  looked 
up  and  saw  Minnie's  face. 

"  What's  the  matter  ?  "  she  asked. 

Bert  lounged  in  from  the  kitchen,  smoking,  and  sank  down 
on  the  sofa. 

"  The  matter  is  I'm  not  goin'  to  be  nagged  at  all  my  life, 
mother,  and  so  I  tell  you." 

"  I've  not  nagged,  Mrs.  Gooderich.  I've  only  asked  her  a 
plain  question  and  she  won't  answer  it.  Nobody  belongin'  to 
me  is  goin'  to  smoke,  that's  all  I  can  say." 

The  young  man  paused  for  breath.  His  rather  plump  features 
were  drawn  with  conflicting  emotions,  his  satin  tie  was  rucking 
up  over  his  collar,  and  his  hands  fumbled  with  the  edge  of  the 
worn  red  baize  tablecloth. 

"  What's  up  —  lovers'  tiffs  ?  "  queried  the  recumbent  Bert  in 
amusement.     Minnie  blazed  at  him. 

"  You  be  quiet !  And  nobody's  goin'  to  nag,  nag,  nag  for 
ever  and  ever  at  me,  that's  all  I  can  say,"  she  snarled  at  her 
lover.  "  You  get  somebody  as  likes  it.  I  don't."  And  taking 
off  her  ring,  she  tossed  it  to  the  middle  of  the  table. 

The  young  man  held  to  the  edge  of  the  table  and  watched 
the  ring  circle  about  and  fall  to  rest,  the  tiny  stones  glinting 
in  the  lamp-light.  Bert's  cigarette  stuck  to  his  upper  lip  as  he 
opened  his  mouth  in  his  astonishment. 

"  What  d'you  mean  ?  "  said  the  young  man  in  a  cold,  lifeless 
voice. 

"  There's  your  ring,  that's  what  I  mean." 

"  I've  not  deserved  this,"  he  answered  dully. 

"  There's  your  ring,  and  don't  have  so  much  to  say,  next 
time." 

There  was  a  brief  silence  that  seemed  centuries  long.  And 
then  the  young  man  slowly  picked  up  the  ring,  and  went  slowly 
out  of  the  house.  As  the  door  closed  behind  him,  Bert  struck 
a  match,  a  crackling  tearing  sound  that  finished  with  a  hiss  and 
a  spurt  of  flame. 

"  You've  done  it  now,  young  Min,"  he  observed  critically. 

"  Done  what?  "  she  turned  on  him  hotly. 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  43 

"Why,  strangled  yourself."  He  drew  at  the  cigarette  for  a 
moment.  "  I'd  'a'  thought  you'd  'a'  had  more  sense.  Fellers 
ain't  so  easy  got."  And  he  lounged  away,  leaving  mother  and 
daughter  alone. 


THAT  act  of  very  deliberate  and  unnecessary  cruelty  by 
which  Minnie  Gooderich  freed  herself  from  the  tram- 
mels of  betrothal  would  have  been  impossible  but  for 
her  economic  independence.  Minnie  was  a  girl  with  a 
hyper-sensitive  brain  and  atrophied  affections.  As  a  schoolgirl 
she  had  had  her  chums  like  Ethel  Turner,  but  now  Ethel  Turner 
couldn't  bear  her.  Minnie  bore  this  with  fortitude,  again  be- 
cause of  her  economic  independence.  If  you  are  earning  twelve 
shillings  a  week  in  a  station  of  life  where  you  can  live  on  ten, 
your  attitude  towards  the  world  of  Ethel  Turners  will  be  mildly 
superior.  ^  It  is  extraordinary  how  many  emotional  storms  one  / 
may  weather  in  safety  if  one  is  ballasted  with  ever  so  little  gold.) 
Mrs.  Gooderich,  who  knew  well  enough  why  her  daughter's  chin 
was  held  so  high  during  supper  that  Friday  night,  spoke  her 
mind. 

"  You  wouldn't  be  so  free  with  that  tongue  of  yours,  miss,  if 
you  had  to  keep  yourself  away  from  home." 

"  I'd  like  to  be  on  my  own.  I'd  manage  some'ow,"  she  mut- 
tered. 

"Would  you?  You're  welcome  to  try.  You'd  soon  find  a 
man's  arm  useful." 

"  Oh,  mother,  don't !  Can't  you  let  me  alone  ?  I  don't  want 
a  man's  arm.     I  want  peace." 

Mrs.  Gooderich  was  silent  until  Bert  took  himself  off,  yawn- 
ing, to  bed.  Then  she  went  round  to  her  daughter's  side  and 
put  her  arm  round  her.  She  did  not  speak,  only  leaned  forward 
and  strove  to  search  the  girl's  eyes.  Ineffable  maternal  solici- 
tude !  Her  arm  tightened  round  the  small  waist.  Minnie  looked 
up  from  her  plate. 

"What,  mother?"  she  asked  uneasily. 

"  Child,  I'm  not  goin'  to  blame  you,  as  you  ought  to  be  blamed 
for  hurtin'  a  man  as  loves  you  true.  I'll  leave  that  to  your  own 
thoughts.  What  I  do  say  to  you  is,  don't  think  as  your  mother 
don't  know  'ow  you  feel.     Look  at  me,  Minnie.     No,  you're  not 

44 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  45 

your  mother  over  again.  I  know  that  well  enough.  I  used  to 
wonder,  when  you  were  a  little  thing,  what  you'd  be  like  when 
you  grew  up.  I  'ardly  dared  think,  sometimes.  I've  seen  how 
restless  you've  been,  and  I  hoped  bein'  engaged  'ud  settle  your 
mind.  You  'urt  him,  my  child.  I'll  tell  you  'ow  I  know,  because 
you  'urt  me  often.  Minnie,  I've  wondered  sometimes,  if  you  only 
knew  'ow  near  I've  been  to  wishin'  I'd  never  give  you  birth,  or 
if  you'd  ever  understand  'ow  near  to  screamin'  I've  been  for  you 
to  put  your  arms  round  my  neck  an'  tell  me  —  tell  me  jus'  little 
secrets." 

The  mother  paused,  looking  intently  into  her  daughter's  face. 
At  length  she  whispered: 

"Child,  I'm  afeared  for  you.     You  'ave  no  weakness!" 

With  unerring  precision  the  mother's  instinct  had  found  the 
trouble  and  voiced  it  with  blundering  poignancy.  But  the  child's 
face  was  like  iron. 

"  Minnie,  didn't  you,  don't  you  love  that  man?  " 

"  I  don't  think  I  did,  mother.     It  was  all  a  mistake." 

"  I  can't  believe  it  of  you.  And  yet,  I  dunno.  There,  go 
to  bed,  child.     We'll  be  sittin'  here  all  night." 

It  was  about  an  hour  later  that  she  went  upstairs  with  the 
small  lamp  that  hung  in  the  passage,  and  shading  the  flame 
with  her  hand,  threw  a  monstrous  shadow  on  the  wall  of  her 
daughter's  room.  Then,  standing  by  the  bedside,  she  let  the 
light  fall  on  the  girl's  face. 

"Yes,  mother?" 

Minnie  lay  on  her  back,  one  hand  behind  her  head,  the  fingers 
entwined  in  the  dark  hair  spread  over  the  pillow.  Her  breast 
rose  and  fell  gently  like  a  ship  at  anchor  in  some  quiet  harbour. 
And  her  dark  eyes,  darker  than  ever  in  the  sudden  light,  were 
wide  open  and  fixed  on  her  mother. 

Mrs.  Gooderich  set  the  lamp  down  on  the  chest  of  drawers 
and  sighed. 

"  Child,"  she  said,  "  haven't  you  anything  to  tell  your  mother?  " 

Minnie  was  silent,  looking  at  the  ceiling. 

"  You  can't  think,"  her  mother  went  on  in  a  whisper,  "  what 
it  means  to  me  to  have  not  a  soul  to  say  a  word  to.  Don't  you 
ever  think,  Minnie,  what  you  are  to  your  mother?  " 

"  I  don't  see  what  that  has  to  do  with  it,"  said  Minnie,  shifting 
uneasily. 

"With  what?     With  what  you  did  to-night?     It's  the  same 


46  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

thing,  my  child.  You  'urt  'im  same  as  you  'urt  me,  'cause  you're 
that  'ard." 

"  It's  no  use  talkin',  mother.  I  can't  help  what  you  say,  I 
didn't  mean  to  hurt  you.  I  didn't  know  I  did  hurt  you,  just 
because  I'm  —  peculiar,  I  suppose  you'd  call  it;  only  it  don't 
seem  very  peculiar  to  me  not  to  be  silly.     That's  all." 

When  Minnie  had  been  small  and  little  Hannibal  just  born, 
there  had  grown  up  in  the  vague  hinterland  of  their  mother's 
mind  a  picture  of  herself  in  later  years,  surrounded  by  her 
children  as  by  a  wall,  protecting  her  in  her  decay.  That  pic- 
ture had  slowly  faded.  The  last  flickering  outline  disappeared 
as  she  stood  with  locked  fingers  looking  down  at  her  daughter. 
The  time  generally  comes  when  a  mother  can  see  a  dim  but 
true  outline  of  the  future.  But  she  gains  the  power  to  see  this 
at  the  expense  of  the  power  to  alter  it.  Mary  Gooderich,  looking 
down  at  her  daughter,  felt  bitterly  the  futility  of  her  life. 

Slowly  she  took  up  the  lamp  and  went  to  her  own  bedroom. 
"  'Ard,"  she  muttered,  "  as  iron.  She'll  go  wrong.  I  can't  stop 
'er  now.  She's  too  quiet.  If  she'd  only  cry!  Dear,  dear!  I 
can't  remember  when  she  did  cry." 

For  some  little  while  after  her  mother  left  her,  Minnie  lay 
awake  in  the  dark,  watching  the  square  of  moonlight  degenerat- 
ing into  a  more  and  more  slip-shod  rhomboid  on  the  wall.  At 
times  she  could  feel  the  bed  quiver  slightly  as  a  heavy  night 
goods  train  thundered  over  the  Great  Northern  Railway  a  mile 
away.  She  had  always  felt  that  infinitesimal  flutter  of  the  earth 
beneath  her  body  as  she  lay  in  her  bed.  At  length  she  slept, 
smiling  a  little.  The  curtain  moved  gently  to  and  fro  between  the 
bed-head  and  the  window  like  a  ghostly  wing. 

The  next  morning  was  Saturday,  and  Minnie  joined  another 
girl  on  the  way  to  the  photo  factory.  The  other  girl  was  in 
the  office.     She  was  trembling  with  a  piece  of  "  news." 

"  Do  you  know,"  she  said,  as  Minnie  swung  into  line  with 
her.     "The  shop's  sold!" 

"Gracious!     Sold  up,  Ivy?  " 

"  No,  to  an  American  firm.  They've  got  a  patent  process. 
Do  you  know  what  they  mean  by  Tetratint  work  ?  " 

"  I've  heard  of  it,  seen  advertisements  of  it,  that  is.  They 
roll  them  off,  you  see,  instead  of  givin'  them  to  us  to  run  over. 
I  thought  it  was  a  machine,  though." 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  47 

"  So  it  is.  That's  why  I  asked.  They've  got  advice  notes 
that  they've  been  consigned.  The  Tetratint  Corporation  of  New 
York,  Boston,  Philadelphia,  etc.  They  seem  a  very  big  concern. 
They  may  give  us  all  a  rise,"  she  tittered. 

"  I  don't  think,"  said  Minnie  sardonically.  "  More  likely  give 
us  retouchers  the  sack." 

There  was  no  more  said  at  the  time,  and  they  parted  at  the 
door  of  the  works,  Minnie  to  her  easel,  the  other  girl  to  her 
desk.  A  man  in  grey  striped  flannels,  a  pot-bellied  man  with  a 
red  clean-shaven  face  and  red  hair,  was  in  evidence  at  intervals. 
Before  the  morning  was  half  through  it  was  distinctly  under- 
stood that  this  man  was  not  asking  questions  but  giving  orders. 
He  would  stand,  hands  in  pockets,  paunch  protuberant,  an 
enigmatic  figure  in  the  doorway.  Girls  seemed  as  though 
mesmerised  by  him.  He  simply  stared  at  them  absently  until 
they  turned  to  look.  This  was  to  pick  out  "  rubber-necks." 
It  is  a  modification  of  the  third  degree.  Some  girls  blushed, 
some  bridled,  some  blundered,  some  rose  and  fiddled  with  articles 
in  their  jacket  pockets  on  the  hooks.  For  some  twenty  minutes 
lie  stood  there  chewing  a  pencil  or  tapping  it  against  his  teeth, 
until  the  fourteen  girls  out  of  fifteen  were  in  a  state  of  nervous 
collapse.  They  had  gradually  grown  to  regard  themselves  as 
art  specialists.  They  stood  for  "  taste  "  in  a  barracks  of  flying 
machine-belts  and  printing  frames.  They  had  cultivated  the 
artistic  temperament,  by  which  I  mean  they  drank  too  much  tea. 
You  could  have  seen,  had  you  climbed  up  the  drain-pipe  outside 
the  high  clear  windows,  their  lips  working  convulsively  and  their 
eyelids  twitching.  You  cannot,  if  you  are  still  in  the  teens  and 
highly  strung,  you  really  cannot  endure  the  silent  scrutiny  of  a 
stranger  for  twenty  minutes,  especially  if  you  have  had  two 
cups  of  over-steeped  tea  for  breakfast.  If  any  one  had  been 
able  to  scale  the  drain-pipe  and  peep  in  suddenly,  these  fourteen 
girls  would  have  shrieked  themselves  into  hysteria.  One  or  two 
jumped  and  bit  their  lips  when  he  moved  slowly  across  the  floor 
behind  them.  He  paused,  hands  in  pockets,  by  Minnie's  easel 
and  examined  her  work.  Minnie  proceeded.  She  was  nervous, 
but  not  having  the  artistic  temperament,  her  nervousness  was 
visualised  as  aggressiveness.  She  could  hear  the  man's  watch 
ticking.     She  looked  up  sharply. 

"  What  is  it?  "  she  asked,  and  the  sound  of  her  voice  slackened 


48  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

the  frightful  tension  in  the  atmosphere.  She  could  hear  the 
other  girls  using  handkerchiefs  and  shuffling  their  feet,  but  she 
kept  her  eyes  on  the  man. 

"  Just  you  go  on,"  he  said  in  a  low  drawl,  nodding  his  head 
gently.  "  Don't  you  mind  me  a  bit.  I'm  just  havin'  a  look 
raound." 

"  I  can't  work  with  somebody  watchin'  me,"  she  retorted, 
shifting  the  mirror  that  threw  the  light  on  the  underside  of  her 
negative. 

The  screw  needed  adjustment  and  she  moved  a  little  to  get 
at  it. 

"  Can't  you  ?  Well,  if  that  don't  beat  all !  "  he  remarked, 
rubbing  his  chin,  his  head  on  one  side.  For  another  moment  he 
paused  to  look  her  over,  and  then  walked  thoughtfully  from  the 
room. 

A  titter,  impossible  to  localise,  began  in  the  room.  It  gathered 
in  volume,  broke  into  a  splutter  here  and  there,  sharpened  to  a 
squeal  in  a  young  thing  with  a  plait,  and  died  away  to  sharp 
hissing  whispers. 

"Miss  Gooderich,  how  could  you?"  came  from  the  next  girl 
but  one,  throwing  her  head  back  and  then  forward  to  gain  a  view 
of  Minnie's  face. 

"If  he'd  spoken  to  me  I  should  have  screamed!"  announced 
another  girl. 

Minnie  made  no  comment.  Perhaps  her  self-possession  could 
be  partly  accounted  for  by  her  preoccupation  with  the  larger 
problems.  One  cannot  always  permit  the  juggernaut  personality 
of  an  employer  to  roll  over  one's  mind.  There  had  been  a 
vibrant  quality,  a  passion,  in  her  mother's  voice  the  night  before, 
that  had  impressed  Minnie  in  several  ways.  She  had  received  a 
short  but  vivid  glimpse  into  her  mother's  soul,  and  she  had 
realised  suddenly  how  impossible  it  would  be  to  confide.  Each 
member  of  the  family  seemed  a  stranger  to  the  others.  Bert's 
lumpish  jocularity  and  candour  was  but  a  plant  of  forced  growth. 
So  she  pondered  as  she  worked.  Indeed,  when  the  red-faced 
man  had  paused  behind  her,  Minnie  had  been  asking  herself  the 
classic  question,  "Why  not?"  Why  not  get  away  from  her 
sordid  surroundings,  the  strained  relations,  the  coal-agent's  clerk? 
She  was  thinking  especially  of  the  last  when  she  looked  up 
sharply  and  spoke. 

At  a  quarter  to  one,  as  she  rolled  up  her  black  alpaca  apron 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  49 

and  set  her  gear  straight,  Minnie  was  still  turning  her  affairs 
over  in  her  mind.  In  the  lavatory  there  was  much  whispering 
and  larkish  laughter  concerning  tennis,  for  the  girls  had  a 
court  in  the  neighbouring  recreation  ground.  Minnie  did  not 
belong  to  the  club.  The  subscription  was  five  shillings,  one 
had  to  buy  a  racket  and  shoes,  and  Minnie,  though  a  quick 
worker,  a  vigorous  walker  when  bound  anywhere,  loathed  violent 
exercise.  Her  ideal  was  something  quite  different.  Before  this 
book  is  ended,  you  will  have  a  clear  notion  of  what  that  ideal 
was. 


XI 

AT  one  o'clock  Minnie  was  standing  in  the  secretary's 
private  office.  Some  of  the  girls  had  already  entered 
and  emerged  before  her  turn  came.  They  emerged 
holding  a  business  letter  instead  of  the  usual  small 
cash  envelope.  Now  as  she  stood  by  the  table  the  secretary 
pushed  an  envelope  from  the  pile  by  the  cash-box  towards  her. 
The  red-faced  man  in  the  striped  flannel  suit  stood  at  the  desk 
turning  over  a  file,  wetting  his  thumbs  at  times.  On  the  envelope 
was  written  "  W.  Gooderich.  12s."  The  secretary,  who  came 
down  from  the  London  studios  every  Saturday,  wore  a  preoc- 
cupied air. 

He  noted  the  name  and  amount  in  his  book,  and  said,  "  There 
you  are,  miss.  Kindly  read  the  notice  enclosed,  and  send  Miss 
Milligan  in.     Good  morning." 

A  presentiment  of  disaster  seized  Minnie  as  she  made  her 
way  out  with  the  envelope  in  her  hand.  As  a  general  rule  she 
walked  home  through  the  recreation  ground,  and  along  the 
ballasted  line  path  that  brought  her  out  upon  the  railway  bridge. 
But  to-day  she  took  the  road  by  the  cemetery,  and  when  she  had 
walked  round  the  bend  she  opened  the  envelope.  A  half-sov- 
ereign and  a  florin  lay  at  the  bottom,  and  taking  out  the  coins 
she  put  them  in  her  purse.  Then  she  drew  out  the  letter,  slowly 
unfolded  it  and  read  it. 

The  British  Tetratint  Company, 
402,  South  Berners  Street, 
W. 
Dear  Madam: 

In  view  of  the  extensive  alterations  in  the  company's  process 
work,  I  am  instructed  to  inform  you  that  your  services  will  be  no 
longer  required. 

Your  engagement  will  therefore  terminate  on  the  Saturday 
following  receipt  of  this  notice. 

Yours  faithfully, 

Joseph  Myers,  Secretary. 

Miss  TV.  Gooderich, 

50 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  51 

It  was  a  habit  of  Minnie's  to  talk  to  herself  when  she  was 
walking  alone. 

"So  that's  it,  is  it?"  she  mused.  "Wouldn't  he  be  glad  if 
he  knew!  He'd  come  tryin'  to  make  it  up.  And  mother  'ud 
back  him  up.  And  I  really  believe  mother  will  be  glad  too. 
She'll  think  it's  a  judgment  on  me  for  bein'  saucy.  I  don't 
care!  I  daresay  I  can  get  a  situation  at  a  distance.  Oh,  Lord, 
how  I  hate  this  place !  '  Dear  Madam ! '  "  she  mimicked.  "  I 
think  I'm  a  pretty  cheap  madam  at  twelve  shillings  a  week  and 
find  yourself.  Miss  W.  Gooderich  is  no  longer  for  sale  at  that 
figure,  my  dears,  and  don't  you  forget  it.  She's  goin'  out  to 
have  a  look  round." 

And  tearing  the  letter  into  very  small  pieces  she  dropped 
them  through  the  cemetery  railings.  There  was  a  species  of 
ritual  about  this  deliberate  rending  of  paper.  Minnie  was 
unconsciously  celebrating  the  new  momentous  cleavage  in  her 
life. 

From  a  worldly  point  of  view,  there  seemed  little  to  engender 
joy  in  the  young  woman's  heart.  Yet  indubitably  did  she 
mount  the  hill  with  a  swing  of  body  and  poise  of  head  that  had 
been  absent  in  the  morning.  At  the  cross-roads  at  the  top  she 
paused,  considering.  The  sudden  appearance  of  the  American 
woman  interrupted  her. 

"  Well,  Minnie,  finished,  I  suppose?     Where  are  you  going?  " 

"  Well,  Mrs.  Gaynor,  I  was  going  to  the  station." 

"  This  afternoon,  I  mean." 

"  Oh,  nothing  particular." 

"  Then  come  with  me.     I'm  going  marketing." 

"Are  you?     I'll  only  be  in  the  way." 

"Stuff!     Come  and  talk  to  me." 

"  All  right,  Mrs.  Gaynor." 

They  walked  down  Wood  Lane,  and  separated  at  Mrs.  Gaynor 's 
back  entrance.  Minnie  went  up  the  garden  into  the  kitchen. 
Mrs.  Gooderich  was  drying  a  saucepan  of  potatoes,  holding  it 
carefullv  upside  down  over  a  pan  and  shaking  vigorously. 

"Well,  child?" 

"  Mother,  you  might  as  well  know  it  at  once.  I've  got  the 
push." 

"  Got  the "     Mrs.  Gooderich  put  the  saucepan  carefully 

on  the  stove  and  turned  to  her  daughter. 

"  The   push,   mother.     They're   putting  down   machinery   for 


52  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

some  new  process,  and  out  we  go.     I  do  at  any  rate.     There's 
a  new  governor.     It's  a  week's  notice." 

"  Whatever  shall  we  do !  " 

"Do?  I'm  going  to  look  for  a  job.  I've  had  enough  of  it 
anyhow." 

"  But  you  wouldn't  give  it  up  before  ?  " 

"  S'pose  I  wouldn't.  It  was  different  then.  I  can't  help  my- 
self now.  At  least,  I  mean  I  can  help  myself.  I'm  goin'  to  have 
a  try  anyhow.     Hannibal  Gooderich !  " 

Little  Hannibal,  his  coat  and  waistcoat  thrown  aside,  was 
playing  ball  against  the  house-wall.  He  was  counting  softly 
to  himself,  for  the  idea  is  to  make  a  record  number  of  catches 
from  the  rebound. 

"What  you  want?"  he  called  swiftly  between  two  counts. 

"  Come  here."  Unwillingly  Hannibal  came,  bouncing  the  ball 
up  and  down.     Minnie  gave  him  a  sixpence. 

"  Go  to  the  station  and  get  a  Daily  News,  a  Daily  Chronicle, 
a  Daily  Mail,  and  a  Daily  Telegraph.  And  bring  back  the 
change." 

"Can't  I  'ave  a  penny?" 

Minnie  regarded  him  from  beneath  her  level  brows.  He  was 
not  a  particularly  desirable-looking  child,  with  his  snub  nose,  his 
freckles,  his  torn  knees  and  carelessly-tied  boots.  His  hands 
were  filthy,  the  nails  packed  with  black  dirt,  the  knuckles 
studded  with  warts  which  had  been  split  and  nibbled.  He 
was  a  suburban  child,  sheath  upon  sheath  of  grossness  encasing 
the  glowing  soul  within.  His  mind,  too,  was  sheathed  with 
material  "  wants."  He  wanted  a  penny,  he  wanted  sweets,  he 
wanted  papers  with  pictures,  he  wanted  a  fishing  rod  and  sharp 
knives,  he  wanted  a  bicycle.  All  these  wants  covered  the  divine 
want  within,  which  no  one  ever  suspected.  At  long  intervals, 
as  he  grew,  the  child  had  glimpses  of  himself.  Now  it  would 
be  the  slow  majestic  flight  of  the  rooks  as  they  sailed  back  to 
their  nests  in  the  woods  at  eventide.  Once  it  was  the  mysterious 
chime  of  the  bells  at  Old  Southgate  Church  coming  muffled  and 
thrilling  through  the  frozen  air  of  a  winter  night.  Or  at  times 
the  thunder  of  the  heavy  night-mail  beating  up  the  Northern 
Heights  in  flame  and  glowing  cinders,  roused  the  innermost  soul 
of  him,  so  that  he  would  climb  the  railings  by  the  line  path,  his 
chin  pressed  against  the  pointed  stakes,  and  hold  on,  screaming 
for  joy.     But  these  were  mere  temporary  obsessions.     The  world 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  53 

saw  but  a  dirty  child,  given  to  truancy,  bell-ringing,  and  petty 
nuisances.  He  stood  there  with  the  sixpence  in  his  palm,  crav- 
ing a  penny. 

"  Get  out  of  the  way,  do !  "  said  the  mother  on  the  road  to 
the  scullery.     "What  d'you  want  papers  for,  Minnie?" 

"  Advertisements,  of  course,"  the  girl  answered  impatiently. 
"  Go  on,  Hanny.  You  can  have  a  penny."  The  boy  leapt 
away,  tearing  at  top  speed  down  the  garden  and  out  into  Wood 
Lane.     The  next  moment  he  was  back. 

"The  Daily  whats?"  he  asked.  Minnie  repeated  the  names 
of  the  journals  which  were  to  show  her  the  way  to  fortune, 
and  Hannibal  vanished. 

"  That  boy  runs  wild,"  said  his  mother,  from  the  scullery. 
"  But  I  can't  keep  him  in.  These  long  'olidays !  Six  weeks ! 
And  clean  an'  cook,  cook  an'  clean  day  in  day  out.  You'll  go 
to  the  factory  next  week,  Minnie?  " 

"  Not  if  a  job  comes  along  before.  I'll  take  the  first  tiring 
that  offers.  It'll  be  a  start.  Mrs.  Gaynor  asked  me  to  go  with 
her  this  afternoon.     Marketing  she  calls  it." 

"  She  goes  to  Finsbury  Park.  You  might  get  'alf  a  pound  o' 
Gil  ray's  butter  for  me.     It's  better'n  anything  here  at  a  shillin'." 

"  All  right.  But  I'm  going  to  look  at  the  papers  after  dinner. 
It's  funny  her  askin'  me  though." 

"  I  can't  make  'er  out,"  said  Mrs.  Gooderich.  "  She's  always 
talkin'  over  my  head.  It's  all  very  well  'er  tellin'  me  this,  that 
an'  the  other  about  management,  but  I  can't  do  it.  The  other 
day  she  says  to  me,  'What  d'you  want  lace  curtains  for?  I 
don't  'ave  curtains.'  And  look  at  'er  front  room.  There's  noth- 
ing in  it." 

"  There's  room  to  move  in  it,"  remarked  Minnie,  nursing  her 
knee.  Mrs.  Gooderich,  wiping  her  hands  on  a  roller  towel,  re- 
garded her  daughter  suspiciously. 

"  That's  your  idea !  Why  have  anything  in  the  house  at  all  ? 
As  for  curtains,  everybody  can  see  straight  in  when  you're  sittin' 
in  Mrs.  Gaynor's  front  room.     Not  that  she  minds!  " 

"  You  can  see  straight  into  the  room  at  the  Lodge,"  said 
Minnie.     The  Lodge  was  the  big  house  opposite. 

"  That's  pride.  They  want  people  to  see  their  nice  things. 
I  wish  you'd  lay  the  table." 

"  Mrs.  Gaynor,  she  has  her  meals  in  the  kitchen,"  said  Minnie 
maliciously. 


54  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

"  That's  a  nice  way  o'  livin' !     You'd  like  that,  I  s'pose  ?  " 

"  Saves  trouble,  anyhow.  This  front-room  business  is  all 
fiddle-faddle,  tryin'  to  live  like  people  with  millions." 

Minnie  rose  and  went  to  lay  the  table  in  the  front  room, 
taking  off  her  hat  as  she  went.  That  front  room,  with  its 
horsehair  furniture,  often  offended  her.  The  table  was  too 
big  for  the  room,  the  bamboo  table  in  the  window  slewed  to 
one  side  on  its  shaky  legs,  while  the  mantelpiece  was  piled  high 
with  ornaments  and  things  that  are  known  as  "  knick-knacks." 
Sometimes  Minnie  wanted  to  sweep  that  wondrous  edifice  of 
knick-knacks  to  the  floor  with  one  mighty  crash.  This  was  not 
the  artistic  temperament  surging  out  in  righteous  wrath  against 
Victorian  tendencies,  it  was  an  ebullition  of  hatred.  Those  vases 
and  bowls  signified,  in  their  dreary  useless  emptiness,  the  dreari- 
ness and  uselessness  and  emptiness  of  the  Maple  Road  spiritual 
atmosphere.  Those  fly-specked  cards  and  photographs  were 
blatant  with  the  false  ideals  of  Maple  Road.  A  New  Year's 
card  from  their  cousins  Amelia,  Florence,  Thomas,  and  John, 
children  of  their  father's  sister  at  Camberwell,  was  propped 
against  the  paternal  shag-box.  Often  Minnie's  lip  had  curled 
as  she  read  the  turgid  doggerel,  "  dear  "  rhyming  with  "  Year," 
"  lour  "  with  "  hour,"  and  "  thine  "  with  "  syne." 

This  attitude  of  Minnie's  towards  the  gentle  hypocrisy  of 
our  lives  must  be  remembered  later  on,  for  it  helps  to  explain 
why  she  seemed  so  pitilessly  brave,  so  naturally  unconventional. 

While  she  laid  the  table  Hannibal  came  in  with  the  papers. 
He  looked  longingly  at  the  change. 

"  Here  you  are,"  said  Minnie,  giving  him  a  penny.  "  Now 
run  away.  I  want  to  read."  She  sat  down  on  the  sofa  by  the 
window,  shook  out  the  vast  sails  of  the  Daily  Telegraph,  holding 
them  at  arms'  length  and  knitting  her  brows.  Here  was  the  tug 
of  war. 

Out  of  the  innumerable  legends  on  that  mighty  banner  she 
was  to  select  one  that  would  bring  to  her  salvation.  What 
a  wonderful  panorama  it  was,  all  those  flats,  hotels,  bungalows, 
and  "  upper  parts  "  to  let,  all  those  agencies  going  begging, 
those  Broadwood  pianos  going  for  twenty  pounds,  those  columns 
of  situations  vacant !  Minnie  let  her  eyes  wander  over  the  sheet 
for  a  few  moments  before  she  settled  down  to  the  business  of 
noting  addresses.  She  read  down  the  money-lenders'  column 
with  a  perplexed  look  on  her  face.     What  could  they  mean? 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  55 

Was  it  possible  that,  by  going  to  one  of  these  angels  of  mercy, 
one  could  get  any  sum,  from  twenty-five  to  twenty  thousand 
pounds,  in  three  hours?  Though  varied  in  phraseology,  the 
essence  of  all  was  identical.  By  dropping  a  card,  by  'phoning  a 
message,  by  pressing  a  button,  one  might  say,  you  had  any  sum 
you  liked  to  name,  "  without  Fees,  Fuss,  or  Farce,"  "  simply  on 
note  of  hand,"  "  in  a  few  hours !  "  Some  were  more  modest  than 
others.  From  them  you  could  only  get  five  thousand,  but  it  was 
"  with  strict  privacy." 

If  you  were  of  good  family,  a  retired  major,  and  public- 
school  man,  would  protect  your  sensitive  spirit  from  the  coarse 
world  outside.  Minnie  wondered  what  it  all  meant.  Why  did 
people  remain  poor  ?  "  Why  go  bankrupt  ?  "  asked  one  advertiser 
indignantly.     Why  indeed? 

She  turned  to  the  "  Situations  Vacant."  There  is  something 
very  relaxing  to  the  mind  in  reading  advertisements  of  situa- 
tions when  the  reader  is  one  of  the  unemployed.  The  interest 
is  so  continually  tightened  and  loosened,  the  future  looks  rosy 
and  black  with  such  monotonous  alternation,  that  the  mind 
becomes  flaccid  and  incapable  of  judgment.  So  it  was  with 
Minnie.  She  read  them  all,  from  the  Accountant  wanted  in 
Cairo,  who  got  seven  hundred  a  year  and  had  to  know  French, 
German,  Greek,  Arabic,  and  some  Italian,  down  to  the  Young 
Lady  Companion  wanted  by  an  Irish  lady  residing  in  Yoko- 
hama, who  got  no  salary  and  a  Christian  "  Home."  Between 
these  two  extremes  of  prosperity  and  competence  lay  a  welter 
of  travellers,  bodice-hands,  porters,  drapers'  assistants,  errand- 
boys,  and  window-cleaners.  Minnie  saw  them  all,  hustling  as 
in  one  big  stairway,  climbing,  stumbling,  pushing,  getting  on 
each  other's  backs,  tripping  unwary  juniors  and  slightly-bald 
seniors,  each  for  himself.  Minnie  was  in  no  way  foolishly 
ignorant  of  these  tilings,  she  had  seen  the  struggle  for  existence 
go  on  up  at  the  factory.  Indeed,  it  was  the  vivid  contrast,  in 
her  mind,  between  the  real  strife  and  the  pretended  good-will 
in  men  that  roused  the  sardonic  in  her.  She  had  known  brisk 
young  men  circulate  tales  about  seniors  so  that  their  chances 
of  advancement  might  be  bettered.  She  remembered  the  very 
brisk  youth  who  had  borrowed  money  from  So-and-so  and  had 
then  spread  a  rumour  that  So-and-so  lived  as  a  blood-sucking 
usurer.  She  knew  of  happenings  more  scandalous  still  among 
the  young  women  who  had  shared  her  labours  up  the  road. 


56  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

Only  one  item  seemed  at  all  possible,  Minnie  thought,  after 
a  few  minutes  of  elation  and  depression.  A  Young  Lady  was 
wanted  to  nurse  a  delicate  child.  Duties  light,  and  most  prob- 
ably the  salary  was  equally  airy.  But  there  was  nothing  for  a 
young  woman  skilled  in  the  enrichment  of  photographic  negatives. 
No  one  wanted  a  retoucher  to  proceed  at  once  to  Bolivia,  at  a 
large  salary,  to  fake  portraits.  She  put  the  Telegraph  down 
and  took  up  another  paper.  And  then  her  mother  came  in  with 
the  dinner  and  the  three  of  them  sat  down  to  the  table. 

"Hadn't  you  better  write  to  your  Uncle  George  about  it?" 
suggested  Mrs.  Gooderich.  Uncle  George  was  the  father  of 
cousins  Amelia,  Florence,  Thomas,  and  John.     Minnie  sniffed. 

"  Uncle  George  wouldn't  thank  me  to  do  anything  of  the  kind, 
mother.     He's  not  over  in  love  with  any  of  us." 

"  He  might  know  of  something,"  vaguely  answered  her  mother. 

"  I'll  try  myself,  next  week." 

Mrs.  Gooderich  was  silent.  She  would  have  mentioned  do- 
mestic service,  but  she  knew  that  Minnie  would  "  bite  her  head 
off"  at  the  first  words.  And  like  most  mothers,  she  did  not 
believe  that  her  daughter  knew  anything  about  keeping  house. 
Little  Hannibal,  absorbed  in  the  possibilities  of  a  Saturday 
afternoon  with  a  whole  penny  to  squander,  was  too  busy  eating 
and  pondering  to  ask  questions. 

"  Well,  don't  forget  the  butter,"  said  Mrs.  Gooderich  as  Minnie 
put  on  her  hat. 

"All  right.  Anything  else?"  she  answered  absently.  She 
was  deep  in  thought  as  she  walked  slowly  up  to  Mrs.  Gaynor's 
door. 

Mrs.  Gaynor  lived  with  her  one  child  in  a  mysterious  way. 
She  never  did  anything  "  for  a  living,"  she  never  seemed  in 
want,  and  yet  she  never  spent  any  more  than  her  neighbours. 
Her  domestic  economy  was  extensive  and  peculiar,  and  had 
puzzled  others  besides  Mrs.  Gooderich.  She  talked  often  in 
a  religious  way,  yet  she  never  went  to  chapel.  The  curate 
lifted  his  hat  to  her,  and  the  Wesley  an  minister  made  an 
obeisance  when  he  met  her,  and  yet  they  could  not  claim  her  as 
a  communicant.  It  was  whispered  that  she  owned  her  house, 
that  she  was  a  miser,  yet  richer  than  the  folk  at  Maple  Lodge. 
She  could  not  afford  lace  curtains,  apparently,  yet  it  was 
rumoured  that  she  had  plenty  upstairs  in  drawers.  After  a 
while  the  continued  discussion  of  her  peculiarities  became  stale. 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  57 

She  remained  while  the  neighbours  vanished,  some  by  day,  others 
by  night.  Her  boy,  whom  no  one  had  ever  seen  in  a  linen 
collar,  frolicked  joyously  in  a  red  jersey  and  corduroy  breeches, 
a  suburban  anomaly.  People  ceased  to  make  remarks.  Mrs. 
Gaynor  was  an  institution.  She  never  asked  for  credit,  and 
proclaimed  herself  no  lady  by  bringing  her  purchases  home  her- 
self, and  so  preventing  tradesmen  from  sending  inferior  articles. 
The  coal-agent's  clerk  had  once  revealed  a  professional  secret 
by  remarking  that  Mrs.  Gaynor  always  ordered  her  coal,  and 
paid  for  it,  at  summer  prices,  instead  of  buying  it  by  the  hun- 
dredweight. Such  was  the  lady  with  whom  Minnie  Gooderich 
was  to  spend  the  afternoon. 


I 


XII 

4  1  "J^T'S  funny  you  askin'  me  to  go  out  to-day,  Mrs.  Gaynor," 
said  Minnie,  as  they  stood  waiting  for  the  train.     "  Be- 
cause I  got  a  week's  notice  this  morning." 
"You  did?     What  have  you  been  up  to?" 

"  Nothing.  They've  sold  the  company  to  an  American  firm, 
the  Tetratint  Company." 

"  You're  not  worrying?  " 

Mrs.  Gaynor  was  a  simply-dressed  woman  of  slender  frame, 
grey-green  eyes,  and  very  thin  but  expressive  lips.  She  looked 
seriously  at  Minnie,  and  the  girl  laughed. 

"  That's  a  funny  question  to  ask,  Mrs.  Gaynor." 

"  It's  essential.  Most  people  miss  essential  questions.  If  you 
tell  me  you're  not  worrying,  I  know  at  once  how  to  answer 
you." 

"  Yes,  I  am  worrying.  Who  wouldn't,  when  I  don't  know 
when  I'll  get  another  job?  " 

"Worry  won't  get  you  a  job,  child!  What  do  you  want  to 
do?" 

"  Anything." 

The  train  came  in,  and  they  took  their  seats.  Mrs.  Gaynor 
waited  until  they  had  passed  through  the  Wood  Green  tunnel 
before  she  spoke. 

"  I  don't  mean  by  that, '  what  do  you  want  to  do  for  a  living  ? ' 
I  mean  what  do  you  want  to  do  with  your  life  ?  " 

"  I  want  to  live,  Mrs.  Gaynor,  not  simply  exist !  I'm  tired 
of  sticking  round  here,  year  after  year,  just  muddling  along. 
Mother "     She  stopped  and  bft  her  lip. 

"Go  on.  What  of  mother?  Mothers  are  poor  things  any- 
way, I  know." 

"  You're  laughing  at  me  now.  I  don't  know  why  I  can  talk 
to  you  better  than  to  mother,  but  I  can.  My  engagement's  broken 
off,  Mrs.  Gaynor." 

"Who  did  that?" 

"  I  did,  and  I'm  not  sorry,  either,"  defiantly. 

"  Girls  of  your  age  aren't  sorry  for  anything  except  thero- 

68 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  59 

selves.  I  know  that.  Did  you  break  it  off  because  you  want  to 
live,  instead  of  existing?  " 

Minnie  pondered  a  moment  and  then  nodded. 

"  Very  well,  then,  get  on  with  living.  Can  you  pick  and 
choose?  " 

"  Of  course  not.     I'd  have  to  take  anything  that  offered." 

"  Why  not  go  to  a  registry  office.  There's  always  plenty  of 
places  for  housemaids.  English  women  are  so  shiftless  that 
they  must  have  them,  and  they  don't  know  how  to  keep  them 
when  they  get  them." 

"  Housemaid !     I  don't  like  menial  work,"  said  Minnie. 

"  Menial !  Where  I  was  born,  child,  there  wasn't  such  a  word. 
You'll  have  much  more  chance  of  living  in  a  woman's  kitchen 
than  in  her  husband's  factory.  I  don't  suggest  it  as  something 
to  last  for  ever.  You're  too  good  to  make  a  life-long  drudge 
of.  But  you  want  to  educate  yourself,  and  find  out  what  life 
is.  Then  you  can  live  it,  as  you  say.  I  know  a  good  deal 
more  about  life  than  you,  Minnie,  and  I'm  suggesting  something 
that's  more  remunerative  than  what  you've  been  doing." 

"  Housemaids  only  get  twelve  pounds  a  year." 

"  Do  they  ?  They  get  twenty  in  places,  and  all  found.  Can 
you  save  twenty  pounds  a  year  at  photograph  work?  There's 
an  old  friend  of  mine  keeps  an  office  in  Kensington,  and  if  you 
like  to  go  there,  she'll  give  you  some  advice." 

"  What's  a  servant  want  to  educate  herself  for?  "  said  Minnie, 
poking  the  opposite  seat  with  the  umbrella. 

"  You  don't  know  what  may  happen.  You  don't  know  what 
is  the  matter  with  you,  but  I  do.  We've  had  girls  like  you  in 
America  for  years.  You  want  to  spread  out,  you  want  all  sorts 
of  freedom,  and  you  don't  know  how  to  get  it.  Instead  most  of 
you  break  your  mothers'  hearts  and  do  ridiculous  things.  And 
all  the  time  you  miss  what  you're  after  —  life." 

"  Have  you  got  what  you're  after,  Mrs.  Gaynor?  " 

"  Surely,  child !  I  live  my  life  and  am  happy.  What  more 
can  one  have  ?  " 

"  I  want  more  than  just  bein'  happy/1  said  Minnie  intensely. 
"  I  want  money,  lots  of  it,  and  I  want  to  go  about.  All  round, 
you  know.     I'd  like  to  go  to  Paris!  " 

"  That's  natural,"  said  Mrs.  Gaynor  placidly,  her  hands  folded 
in  her  lap,  and  her  grey-green  eyes  watching  the  enamelled 
hoardings  that  flew  past  the  window.     "  Perhaps  you  will  some 


60  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

day.  Many  a  beggar  would  ride  if  he  only  wished  hard  enough. 
Most  beggars  I  know  are  beggars  because  they  couldn't  wish, 
didn't  know  how.     I'm  telling  you  how  you  can  learn  to  wish." 

"  That  sounds  funny." 

"  Not  funny,  strange.     Here's  Finsbury  Park." 

"  Strange,  then.  Would  you  put  your  own  daughter  to  it,  if 
you  had  one  ?  "  said  Minnie,  as  they  alighted. 

"  Depends  on  the  daughter.  She  might  be  very  different  from 
you.  You've  got  a  real  strong  mind.  No  one  knows  what  you 
may  do,  some  day." 

"  Do  you  mean  murder  ?  " 

"  My  gracious,  child !  Why  do  you  say  such  things  ?  Murder ! 
Well  now !     You  say  that  ?     I  didn't  expect  it." 

"  What  do  you  mean  then  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  I  can't  see.  This  engagement  of  yours  —  I 
can't  see  what's  to  replace  it.  .  .  .  No.  .  .  ." 

Minnie  Gooderich,  walking  beside  Mrs.  Gaynor  up  the  Seven 
Sisters  Road,  was  perplexed  at  this  conversation,  though  it  was 
Mrs.  Gaynor's  accustomed  tone.  Mrs.  Gaynor  herself  looked 
perplexed  too,  but  her  face  cleared  again. 

"  Well,  child,"  she  said,  her  thin  lips  smiling.  "  Do  you 
worry  now  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  the  girl.  "  I'd  forgotten  to.  One  gets  talking, 
and  there  you  are." 

"  Not  altogether.  Perhaps  somebody  else  is  wishing  you  not 
to»     That  helps,  you  know,  helps  wonderful." 

Minnie  felt  her  scalp  tingling  intolerably.  She  set  it  down 
to  walking  in  the  sun. 

"  Here's  Risk's  Sale  on,"  she  said.  "  Let's  go  in,  Mrs.  Gay- 
nor." That  lady  shook  her  head.  Like  most  mystics  she  was 
very  practical. 

"  Why,  don't  you  believe  in  sales  ?  " 

"  Sales  are  like  everything  else  in  this  country,"  said  Mrs. 
Gaynor.  "  They're  splendid  things  for  those  who  are  well  off. 
If  you  were  a  rich  young  woman  and  wanted  two  or  three  party- 
gowns,  you  could  get  them  shop-soiled  and  cheap  and  yet  good. 
That's  a  bargain.  So  with  white  goods.  But  if  you  go  in  there 
to  get  odds  and  ends  cheap,  you'll  only  be  buying  trash." 

In  spite  of  this  wisdom  of  the  world,  Minnie  paused  to  look. 
Messrs.  Risk's  windows  were  choked  with  the  merchandise  of 
a  Summer  Sale.     In  a  few  weeks  they  would  be  choked  with 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  61 

that  of  an  Autumn  Sale.  Mr.  Risk  himself,  having  sold  the 
business  to  a  company  by  guaranteeing  a  dividend  for  a  stated 
period,  now  bred  shorthorns  and  Irish  terriers  in  Hertford- 
shire seclusion,  while  the  company  strove  to  build  up  more 
business  by  selling  their  goods  at  half  the  cost  price.  This 
system  demoralises  buyer  and  seller  alike,  and  Mrs.  Gaynor 
would  have  none  of  it. 

It  was  drawing  towards  evening  when  they  reached  Fins- 
bury  Park  again,  and  sat  down  on  one  of  the  seats  beneath  the 
rustling  trees  of  the  drive. 

"  I've  been  wondering  what  you  really  meant,  Mrs.  Gaynor, 
when  you  said  I  had  a  strong  mind.  Does  a  strong  mind,  and 
brains,  and  all  that,  bring  in  any  money  ?  " 

"  Not  always.  It's  a  great  help  though,  because  you  can  see 
where  money  is.  I  was  thinking  you'd  probably  get  views  as 
you  grow  older,  and  begin  to  spread  them." 

"Me!" 

"  Sure,  you.     Wait  till  you've  been  out  in  the  world.". 

"  I  don't  know  much  about  views,  but  I  know  I'd  like  plenty 
of  money,  and  I  like  people  with  brains  in  their  heads." 

"  Well,  just  you  stick  to  facts  a  while.  I'll  send  you  to  Mrs. 
Worrall,  and  she'll  have  something  for  you." 

"  Very  likely  I'll  have  plenty  o'  views  when  I've  been  house- 
maiding  a  bit,"  observed  Minnie. 

"  You  might  get  something  else." 

"What?" 

"  Companion.  Rich  Englishwomen  are  pretty  queer.  I'll 
write  to  Mrs.  Worrall  about  you.  Just  you  call  in  on  Monday 
morning  and  see  her." 

The  word  "  companion  "  pave  Minnie  food  for  rich  and  splendid 
dreams  during  the  week-end. 


XIII 

AT  three  o'clock  on  Monday  afternoon,  Minnie  Goode- 
rich,  clad  in  a  neat  black  skirt,  print  blouse,  black 
jacket  and  straw  hat,  entered  a  fancy-shop  in  the 
neighbourhood  of  South  Kensington  Station.  It  was 
a  large  fancy-shop.  You  could  purchase  anything  from  a 
paper-weight  to  a  Gladstone  bag,  from  a  bottle  of  ink  to  a  fire- 
screen. Within  its  large  glass  door  you  could  feel  an  atmos- 
phere of  rich  refinement.  Unconsciously  you  trod  softly;  you 
modulated  your  voice  to  the  well-bred  drone  of  the  west.  A 
counter  piled  high  with  stationery  ablaze  with  the  insignia  of 
the  wealthy  occupied  the  left  side.  To  the  right  extended  cases 
of  expensive  leather  goods,  paper-knives  of  onyx  and  ivory, 
fountain-pens  of  wrought  and  jewelled  metal,  prayer-books  that 
retired  empresses  might  finger.  Beyond  this  banked  and  ter- 
raced merchandise  stood  a  telephone-box.  Through  the  glazed 
panel  Minnie  saw  a  lady  communicating  with  the  beyond,  her 
lips  moving  rapidly  yet  without  a  sound.  Beyond  again,  was 
a  ground  glass  door  labelled  "  Office,"  a  discreet,  genteel-looking 
door,  a  door  that  had  immense  possibilities.  A  young  woman 
with  thin  classical  features  was  busy  behind  the  counter,  her 
head  just  visible  above  a  cabinet  of  brass  wherein  reposed  sample 
armorial  bearings  of  many  colours  and  intricate  design.  As 
Minnie  stood  within  this  genteel  emporium  of  useless  articles, 
the  young  woman  leaned  over  the  heraldic  cabinet  and  exam- 
ined her.  One  glance  was  sufficient.  The  young  woman  re- 
turned to  her  occupation. 

"  Is  Mrs.  Worrall  in  ? "  asked  Minnie  briskly.  The  young 
woman  raised  her  eyebrows. 

"  She  is  engaged." 

"Give  her  this  letter,  will  you?"  And  Minnie  passed  over 
a  square  white  envelope.  The  young  woman  took  it  by  one 
corner  and  read  the  address. 

"  Is  there  any  answer?  " 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  63 

"Yes,  there  is,  and  I'll  wait  for  it,"  answered  Minnie 
sharply.     The  young  woman  went  into  the  office. 

"  Come  this  way,  please,"  she  said  when  she  returned,  and 
Minnie  stepped  forward.  The  young  woman  closed  the  door, 
and  Minnie  found  herself  confronting  a  stout,  richly-dressed 
lady  who  was  seated  at  a  roll-top  desk  covered  with  papers. 

"Take  a  seat.     What  can  I  do  for  you?" 

Minnie  sat  down  and  told  her. 

"  So  I  see  by  Mrs.  Gaynor's  letter.  Have  you  had  any  ex- 
perience of  housework?"     Minnie  shook  her  head. 

"  Or  of  secretarial  duties  ?  "     Another  shake. 

"  But,  my  good  girl  —  but  let  me  read  the  letter  through. 
Hm  —  hm." 

Minnie  watched  the  woman's  face  as  she  turned  the  letter 
over,  and  her  eyes  moved  slowly  down  the  page. 

"  H'm  —  I  see,  I  see."  For  a  few  moments  Mrs.  Worrall 
remained  in  deep  thought.  Then  she  took  a  sheet  of  paper 
and  a  pen  and  wrote  rapidly  a  few  lines.  This  she  folded  and 
put  in  an  envelope,  sealing  it  with  green  wax. 

"  I  can  do  nothing  for  you  here,"  she  said.  "  My  connection 
is  entirely  among  ladies  who  expect  their  maids  to  have  testi- 
monials from  the  aristocracy.  As  for  a  post  as  companion, 
my  clients  expect  applicants  to  be  of  the  aristocracy,  I  think. 
But  if  you  take  this  letter  to  this  address  " —  here  she  wrote 
the  address  — "  you  may  be  suited.     That  is  all  I  can  do." 

"Is  this  a  situation?"  asked  Minnie,  rising  and  taking  the 
letter. 

"  Possibly.  I  wish  you  success,  as  you  are  a  friend  of  Mrs. 
Gaynor's.  It  refers  to  a  post  I  could  not  offer  in  the  usual 
way,  for  certain  reasons.  It  would  damage  my  business.  You 
understand  ?  " 

"  Can't  say  I  do,  ma'am."     The  lady  smiled. 

"  Mrs.  Gaynor  remarks  in  her  letter  that  you  have  much  to 
learn.  If  you  will  deliver  that  letter  —  take  a  'bus  to  Chancery 
Lane  —  you  will  begin  to  learn.     Good  day." 

And  Mrs.  Worrall  resumed  her  labours  at  the  roll-top  desk. 

As  the  'bus  lumbered  eastward,  Minnie  pondered  over  the 
mysterious  quest  upon  which  the  quiet  American  woman  next- 
door-but-one  had  started  her.  What  might  not  happen?  In  any 
case,  was  not  this  infinitely  preferable  to  the  humdrum  monotony 
of  working  at  the  factory  and  walking  out?     How  glorious  the 


64.  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

world  was!  All  this  press  of  people,  the  green  of  the  parks, 
the  roar  of  traffic!  Why  had  she  never  broken  away  before? 
There  was  a  snap  of  mischief  in  her  eyes  as  she  glanced  around 
her.  A  youth  sitting  behind  her  on  the  'bus  imagined  her  to 
be  making  eyes  at  him.  He  coughed  to  attract  her  attention. 
Minnie  turned  again  and  froze  him  with  a  look. 

The  address  on  the  letter  was  to  Mrs.  Olga  B.  Wilfley,  29b, 
Clifford's  Inn,  Strand.  Minnie  was  in  a  complete  and  very 
natural  darkness  as  to  the  nature  of  an  Inn.  She  did  not  sup- 
pose it  to  be  a  public-house.  Perhaps  it  was  a  hotel.  The 
mystery  which  surrounded  the  whole  business  seemed  summed 
up  in  this  address.  29b  was  a  novel  in  itself.  In  a  short  time 
it  would  be  explained.  In  the  meanwhile  she  lived  in  a  simmer- 
ing ecstasy  on  the  top  of  the  lumbering  'bus.  Knightsbridge, 
Hyde  Park,  Piccadilly,  all  passed  in  brilliant  sunshine  before 
her.  This  indeed  was  the  world.  She  noted  with  quick  eyes 
the  girls  leaning  back  in  victorias  which  waited  at  the  curb  by 
Swan  and  Edgar's  and  Peter  Robinson's.  They  were  rich,  of 
course.  The  sunlight  flashed  on  the  silver  of  the  harness  and 
the  silk  of  the  coachmen's  hats.  The  'bus  halted,  passed  on 
down  Haymarket,  and  she  had  a  glimpse  of  St.  James'  Park, 
with  the  Government  buildings  overtopped  by  Big  Ben. 
And  then  Trafalgar  Square,  Charing  Cross,  and  the  Strand,  all 
for  threepence.     Minnie  leaned  over  and  addressed  the  driver. 

"Clifford's  Inn?  You  git  down  at  Chancery  Lane,  miste, 
that's  what  you  do,  for  Clifford's  Inn  ?  " 

Minnie  enquired  what  sort  of  place  it  was.  The  driver  told 
her  it  was  "  chambers,"  which  was  none  too  illuminating  to  a 
suburban  girl.  He  had  a  brother-in-law,  he  averred,  who  had 
a  hawker's  licence,  and  hawked  studs  and  bootlaces  and  other 
small  haberdashery,  and  he  kept  his  stock  at  the  porter's  in 
Clifford's  Inn.  It  was  handy  too,  for  a  hawker,  when  rain 
came  on,  'cause  there  was  an  archway-like.  Thrippence  a  week 
he  paid  for  keeping  his  stock  there  o'  nights.  Funny  old  place, 
with  grass  an'  trees  too,  right  bung  in  the  Strand.  The  driver 
rambled  on  with  his  monologue,  just  as  his  horses  rambled  along 
the  Strand.  Was  Miss  up  from  the  country?  Minnie,  with 
that  sudden  asperity  of  hers,  replied,  "  Yes,  from  Green 
Lanes!"  and  the  driver  resumed  his  lifelong  study  of  horses' 
ears.     At  Chancery  Lane,  Minnie  got  down. 

Somewhat  numb   from  her  ride,  she  discovered  the   passage 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  65 

which  leads  to  the  Inn.  Her  simmering  ecstasy  had  faded, 
she  was  less  confident  of  success.  Airs.  Gaynor,  now  —  what 
led  her  to  expect  so  much  of  Mrs.  Gaynor's  influence?  She 
marched  into  the  courtyard  and  stared.  She  caught  sight  of 
a  railed-in  lawn  with  trees,  and  walked  through  another  arch- 
way, keenly  interested.  Was  it  possible  people  lived  in  such 
queer  old  places  still.  Yes,  there  were  people  sitting  on  the 
seats  beneath  the  trees.  Several  of  them  were  asleep;  one,  a 
woman,  was  sitting  motionless,  reading  a  book.  Nothing  stirred. 
The  roar  of  the  traffic  had  fallen  to  a  faint  hum.  You  might 
almost  imagine  a  magician's  spell  over  this  quiet  nook,  every- 
thing suddenly  fixed  in  its  place  for  unnumbered  years.  It 
was  like,  it  was  like, —  Minnie  struggled  with  her  stock  of 
imagery  for  a  moment  —  like  a  convent,  it  was  so  calm,  so  still 
on  that  warm  afternoon.  What  quiet  people  they  must  be  who 
dwelt  in  these  black  old  houses !  A  tall  young  man  in  a  black  coat 
and  silk  hat,  and  carrying  an  attache-case  of  yellow  leather,  came 
through  from  the  Chancery  Lane  entrance  and  walked  past  her. 

"Which  is  :29b,  please?"  said  Minnie,  suddenly.  He  paused 
at  once,  and  looked  at  her  keenly.  He  had  a  keen  face,  his  nose 
was  sharp,  his  eyes  were  sharp,  and  his  voice,  when  he  spoke, 
had  a  sharp  metallic  way  with  consonants  that  reminded  one  of 
a  machine. 

"  I  am  bound  there,"  he  replied.  **  May  I  have  the 
pleasure?  " 

Minnie  Gooderich  did  not  resemble  a  maidservant  as  she  stood 
regarding  him  from  beneath  her  straw  hat.  Those  were  the  days 
when  straw  hats  were  in  vogue  in  all  walks  of  life.  Moreover, 
those  were  the  days  when  the  Inn  harboured  folk  of  all  descrip- 
tions. You  never  knew,  Anthony  Gilfillan  was  wont  to  say, 
whom  you  might  know,  in  Clifford's  Inn,  in  those  days.  He 
himself,  witli  his  yellow  attache  case,  was  eager,  anxious,  burn- 
ing to  know  everybody.  Without  ado  he  led  the  way  round  the 
qindrangle.  and  made  a  gesture  for  Minnie  to  enter  the  porch. 

"  A  lovely  day,"  he  observed,  glancing  keenly  at  the  girl 
reading  on  the  seat.  "  Quite  a  monastic  place  this,  for  the 
centre  of   London.     But  perhaps  you  do  not  know  the  Inn?" 

"  No,"  said  she,  clearing  her  throat.  "  I've  come  to  see  a 
Mrs." — she  referred  to  the  letter — "a  Mrs.  Olga  Wilfley." 

"Oh,  really?  My  hostess.  Her  flat  is  at  the  top.  You 
know  she  has  an  '  At  Home  '  to-day?     Do  you  know  her?     Well, 


6<5  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

excuse  me  asking  all  these  questions.  Mind  these  stairs,  they 
are  rather  steep,  aren't  they?  They  had  peculiar  ideas  of  com- 
fort in  the  eighteenth  century,  don't  you  think  ?  " 

The  eighteenth-century's  ideas  of  comfort  were  not  more 
peculiar  than  Minnie's  ideas  of  the  eighteenth  century.  When 
they  had  ascended  two  floors,  she  paused  for  breath. 

"  Excuse  me !  I  forgot  how  fast  we  were  walking.  Shall 
I  go  up  and  get  a  chair?     Take  my  arm." 

"  Oh,  no,  thank  you.  I  —  look  here,"  Minnie,  in  spite  of  her 
protest,  touched  his  arm.  "  Look  here,  you're  making  a  mis- 
take.    I've  come  to  see  Mrs.  Wilfley  about  a  situation.     There!  " 

She  expected  him  to  draw  away,  apologise,  and  quit  her. 
But  Mr.  Anthony  Gilfillan  did  nothing  of  the  kind.  He  re- 
garded her  face  keenly,  her  ungloved  left  hand  resting  on  his 
sleeve,  her  slim  straight  figure  resting  against  the  broad  sill  of 
the  landing-window.  A  type-writer  clicked  behind  a  heavy  door 
near  them. 

"Indeed!  I  wish  you  success.  Can  I  be  of  any  service? 
If  you  will  tell  me  your  name,  I  shall  be  delighted  to  introduce 
you  to  Mrs.  Wilfley.  That  is,"  he  smiled,  "  if  you  do  not  object. 
My  name  is  Gilfillan,  Anthony  Gilfillan." 

"  Mine's  Wilhelmina  Gooderich,"  said   Minnie. 

"And  you  are  come  about  a  situation?"  Mr.  Gilfillan  set 
his  attache-case  on  the  sill  and  showed  no  desire  to  rush  to  Mrs. 
Wilfley 's  "  At  Home."  "  I  take  it  you  are,  then,  of  Mrs.  Wil- 
fley's  persuasion?" 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean,"  she  answered  shortly.  "  I've 
an  introduction  to  her,  but  I  shouldn't  know  her  if  I  fell  over 
her,  I'm  sure." 

"  I  see." 

"  She's  not  —  touched,  off  her  head,  is  she  ?  "  asked  Minnie, 
with  a  sudden  suspicion,  born  of  Mrs.  Worrall's  guarded  man- 
ner, shooting  through  her  mind.  Mr.  Gilfillan  laughed  and 
checked  himself.  He  reflected  that  he  had  always  considered 
that  to  be  his  own  private  joke  against  Olga  Wilfley. 

"  By  no  means ;  Mrs.  Wilfley  is  a  very  shrewd  woman  of  the 
world.     Shall  we  go  up  ?  " 

As  they  turned  the  last  corner  of  that  interminable  staircase, 
a  low  insistent  murmur  of  conversation  and  a  tinkling  of  teacups 
reached  their  ears.  The  door  of  the  flat  was  open  to  either  side 
of  the  landing,  and  a  messenger-boy,  his  hair  oiled  and  brushed, 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  67 

stood  at  the  stair  head.  Another  messenger-boy,  whose  head 
was  even  more  oiled  and  brushed,  strutted  across  their  field  of 
vision  with  a  tray  of  bread  and  butter.  A  man  and  a  woman 
followed,  the  woman  listening  with  head  on  one  side  as  the 
man  explained  something  with  pats  of  fingers  on  palm.  The 
woman  lifted  her  head  and  saw  Mr.  Gilfillan. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Gilfillan ! "  she  sailed  right  at  him,  hand  held 
high,  face  all  smiles,  effervescing  a  sort  of  welcome.  Mrs.  Olga 
Wilfley's  welcome  was  always  more  like  a  glass  of  soda  water 
than  a  glass  of  wine.  It  sparkled  and  fizzed,  but  there  was  no 
heat  in  it.  Her  hand  dropped  listlessly  from  yours,  which  is 
the  true  test. 

A  few  words  of  polite  enquiry,  as  the  oiled  and  brushed  boy 
relieved  him  of  his  hat  and  case,  and  Mr.  Gilfillan  turned  to 
the  girl  at  his  side,  now  really  nervous  and  therefore,  being 
Minnie,  trembling  to  be  on  the  aggressive. 

"  Pardon  me.  Let  me  introduce  Miss  Gooderich  —  Mrs. 
Wilfley." 

"  So  good  of  Mr.  Gilfillan  to  bring  you  along,"  she  purred. 
"  Do  go  in  and  have  some  tea.  There  will  be  music  presently. 
.  .  .  Who  is  she,  Tony?"  she  whispered,  as  Minnie  walked 
with  extreme  agitation  through  the  nearest  doorway. 

"  Lord  knows,"  he  replied,  blowing  his  nose  unnecessarily. 
"  I  found  her  trying  to  find  your  place  —  says  she  wants  a 
situation  —  so  I  fetched  her  up." 

"A  situation?" 

"Yes,  she's  a  letter  for  you,  from  somewhere." 

"  But  she  may  be  a  servant !  " 

"  Quite  likely.  I  didn't  know  you  took  any  exception  to 
servants.  Beneath  the  innumerable  sheaths  of  the  Self  there 
is  but  one  universal  individual  soul,  eh  ?  " 

u  Tony,  you  scoffer !  Go  and  look  after  her,  and  see  she 
doesn't  steal  the  sugar-tongs." 

Minnie's  conjecture,  dim  enough,  that  the  people  in  these 
old  houses  would  in  some  way  resemble  them  did  not  live  long 
after  she  entered  Mrs.  Wilfley's  flat.  She  found  herself  stand- 
ing near  the  door  of  a  large  room  with  a  gabled  roof  of  dark 
rafters,  from  which  hung  rusty  lanterns  fitted  with  electric 
globes.  The  walls  were  of  brown  paper,  apparently:  the  furni- 
ture, as  far  as  could  be  seen  from  the  people  sitting  on  it,  was 
"  frightfully  old,"  just  as  the  people  themselves  were  fright- 


68  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

fully  modern.  A  grand  piano  sprawled  in  one  corner.  Brass 
candlesticks,  snuffers,  pistols,  china-pugs,  Japanese  prints,  pen- 
and-ink  "  sketches,"  old  china,  Bartolozzi  prints  in  circular 
frames,  and  all  the  other  rubbish  of  refinement  were  nailed  to 
the  brown-paper  walls  or  lay  on  the  antique  bookcases,  making 
it  difficult  to  find  a  place  for  a  really  modern  cup  and  saucer 
or  a  plate  of  fairly  recent  meringues. 

The  people  themselves  may  be  described  in  the  aggregate  as 
journalists.  One  or  two  of  them  had  written  books,  but  I  think 
they  were  really  journalists.  One  or  two  had  money  of  their 
own,  and  they  wanted  to  be,  really,  journalists.  They  were  all 
dressed  passably  well  —  the  women  in  short-sleeved  summer 
blouses  with  low  necks,  the  men  in  black  frock  or  morning  coats 
with  white  slips  in  the  opening, —  and  they  all  had  a  certain 
ease  of  manner,  a  certain  facility  of  expression  that  was  hard  to 
distinguish,  at  times,  from  real  knowledge  and  culture.  But 
this  facility  was  rarely  felicity.  Their  tropes  and  metaphors, 
for  example,  were  not  so  true  and  biting  as  Minnie's,  though 
she  felt  too  strange  just  then  to  know  that. 

Mr.  Anthony  Gilfillan  entered  the  room  briskly,  and  shook 
hands  with  several  people.  He  then  sat  down  beside  Minnie 
and  began  to  chat  with  her.  A  messenger-boy  brought  two 
cups  of  tea  and  another  offered  a  plate  of  cucumber  sandwiches. 
It  was  a  characteristic  of  Mrs.  Olga  Wilfley  to  use  messenger- 
boys  for  purposes  other  than  sending  messages.  Her  great 
ambition  was  to  have  a  private  orchestra  of  commissionaires. 
She  habitually  used  the  piano  for  a  reading  desk,  and  in  her 
bedroom  you  might  have  seen  roses  in  beer-mugs.  The  bedroom 
itself  was  for  the  occasion  turned  into  a  cloak-room  tended  by 
her  charwoman  and  a  red-haired  messenger-boy.  Fixing  electric 
lights  inside  rusty  old  lanterns  gave  her  real  joy,  for  her  joy 
was  quaintness.  It  was,  as  we  have  seen,  very  quaint  indeed  for 
Minnie  to  come  "  about  a  situation."  It  was  deliciously  quaint 
for  Tony  Gilfillan,  the  bad  boy,  to  drag  the  girl  upstairs  as  a 
guest.  The  whole  thing,  in  fact,  was  so  irresistibly  quaint  that 
the  hostess  stood  in  the  doorway,  not  ineffective  in  her  silver- 
grey  against  the  green  portiere,  and  observed  the  bad  boy  talking 
to  his  protegee,  and  so  cold-shouldering  the  lady  who  did  the 
phrenological  departments  of  Stoney  Cuts  and  the  Rambler. 
This,  roughly,  was  the  conversation  of  Mr.  Gilfillan  and  the  rap- 
idly-calming Minnie. 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  69 

"Won't  you  have  some  tea,  just  to  revive  you  after  the 
stairs?  " 

"  Thank  you."     Boy  presents  cups. 

"  And  some  cucumber  sandwiches  ?  You  remember  that  bit 
about  cucumber  sandwiches  in  the  first  act  of  '  The  Importance 
of  Being  Ernest'?" 

"  Thanks."  Boy  presents  sandwiches.  "  No,  I  don't  go  to 
theatres  much.     I  live  so  far  out,  you  see." 

"  Oh,  you  do  not  live  in  town  ?  " 

"  No.     That  is,  I  live  in  North  London." 

"  You  mean  the  suburbs  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  with  sudden  asperity,  "  but  you  needn't  rub  it  in !  " 

"  No,  because  that's  where  I  live  myself." 

"What,  in ?" 

"Stamford  Hill." 

"  I  know  that.     I  thought  you  lived "     Minnie  paused. 

"  In  this  sort  of  place?     No,  I'd  rather  be  shot." 

"  There's  some  places  in  the  suburbs  I'd  rather  be  shot  than 
live  in." 

"  Have  you  been  coming  to  London  to  business  ?  " 

"  No.  I've  been  working  at  a  photo- finishing  works. 
They've  sold  the  place  to  an  American  firm  and  I've  had  an 
Irish  rise.  That  reminds  me,  I've  a  letter  for  Mrs.  Wilfley. 
You  make  me  forget  what  I  came  for,"  she  laughed. 

"  Well,  that's  just  what  I  was  out  to  do,"  he  confessed.  "  Let 
me  hold  your  cup.     It's  empty,  will  you  have  some  more?  " 

"  Yes,  please,  I'm  thirsty."  He  rose  to  find  a  boy  with  tea. 
Mrs.  Wilfley  came  forward  and  sank  like  a  grey  cloud  on  his 
chair. 

"I'm  so  glad  you  came,  you  know,  Miss  —  Miss  .  .  ."  her 
voice  trailed  off  dreamily  as  she  caught  some  one's  eye  across 
the  room  and  smiled.  "  Mr.  Gilfillan  tells  me  you  wanted  to 
see  me." 

"  Here's  a  letter  from  Mrs.  Worrall,"  said  Minnie,  turning 
round  for  her  sandwich  plate.  Mrs.  Wilfley  took  the  letter, 
perfectly  conscious  that  every  woman  in  the  room  was  observant 
of  her  movement. 

"Thank  you  so  much.  Will  you  excuse  me  a  tiny  moment? 
We  are  going  to  have  some  music  before  the  lecture.  A  friend 
of  mine  is  poing  to  sing  one  of  the  quaintest  Spanish  songs. 
D'you  mind?  " 


70  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

"No,  I'll  wait  till  you  come  back."  And  Minnie  munched 
Iler  sandwiches. 

"  Awfully  pretty  rooms,  these  of  Mrs.  Wilfley's,"  said  a  deep 
contralto  voice  on  Minnie's  left,  and  she  jumped.  She  was 
unaware  that  introductions  were  superfluous  for  light  conversa- 
tions at  Mrs.  Wilfley's  "  At  Homes."  The  phrenological  lady 
of  Stoney  Cuts  and  the  Rambler  leaned  toward  Minnie  and  re- 
garded her  with  favour  mingled  with  criticism.  Minnie,  waiting 
until  her  mouth  was  empty,  replied  that  such  was  the  fact. 

"  Excuse  me,"  boomed  the  voice  again,  "  but  are  you  a 
j  ournalist  ?  " 

"Me!     Good  gracious,  no!"  ejaculated  the  girl. 

"  Ah ! "  The  lady  again  regarded  Minnie's  phrenological 
development.  "  I  thought  you  were,  you  know.  Awfully  clever 
woman,  Mrs.  Wilfley.     You've  read  her,  of  course?" 

"  No,  I  haven't,  ma'am.  I'm  afraid  I  don't  know  her  very 
well."     The  lady's  glance  became  a  stare. 

"Sorry.     I  did  not  catch  your  name?" 

"Didn't  you?"  The  sudden  asperity  was  just  rising  to  the 
occasion  with  some  swift  suburban  argot,  when  the  gallant  Mr. 
Gilfillan  returned  with  her  replenished  cup. 

"Ah,  Miss  Rathstein,  how  are  you?  Are  you  supplied? 
Very  warm,  isn't  it?  I've  been  opening  a  window  or  two  at  the 
back.  Yes,  it  is  sugared,  Miss  Gooderich.  Miss  Rathstein  — 
Miss  Gooderich."  He  sat  down  between  them  and  crossed  his 
legs.  "  Have  you  seen  Bowman  lately  ?  Is  he  safe  for  an  arti- 
cle after  all?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Miss  Rathstein,  suddenly  recalling  that  she  also 
was  safe  for  five  guineas  if  Bowman  put  in  that  article. 

"  Miss  Rathstein  is  a  very  old  friend  of  mine,"  said  Mr.  Gil- 
fillan to  Minnie. 

Some  one  struck  chords  on  the  piano  in  the  other  room  across 
the  landing.  Mrs.  Wilfley  appeared  at  the  door  smiling  quaintly. 
There  was  a  general  rustle  and  movement  towards  the  other 
room. 

"  Let  us  stop  here,"  whispered  Mr.  Gilfillan,  laying  his  hand 
on  Minnie's  arm.  Nothing  loth,  she  sat  down  again.  She  was 
outwardly  calm,  intellectually  excited,  socially  adrift  on  an  un- 
known sea.  Mr.  Gilfillan  was  a  new  species  to  her,  in  particular. 
His  attention  was  vigilant,  yet  the  feminine  instinct  in  her  could 
lay  hold  of  nothing.     His  whisper  had  nothing  in  it  beyond  the 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  71 

bare  literal  meaning.  He  gave  her  the  impression  that  she  was 
the  one  person  in  the  world  he  wished  to  speak  to,  yet  he  made 
no  call  to  her  sex.  His  keen  eyes  were  animated,  yet  she  de- 
tected no  flash  of  desire. 

The  quaint  Spanish  song  was  soon  in  full  swing.  The  lady 
who  sang  it  had  spent  a  month  in  Grand  Canary,  and  had  been 
fascinated  by  the  native  airs.  In  Clifford's  Inn,  a  month  at 
the  Santa  Catalina  Hotel  qualifies  you  forever  as  an  authority 
on  Spanish  music.  She  sang  it  rapidly  in  a  high  tinkling  voice. 
She  did  not  understand  the  meaning  of  the  words.  If  she  had 
I  doubt  if  she  would  have  sung  it.  That,  at  any  rate,  was  the 
opinion  hazarded  by  Mr.  Gilfillan  to  Minnie,  and  I  often  used 
to  find  myself  in  accordance  with  his  opinions.  He  had  a  very 
fair  familiarity  with  decorative  Spanish  acquired  while  working 
in  a  power  station  at  Antofogasta. 

"Don't  you  like  music?"  Minnie  asked. 

"  It  is  an  agreeable  noise,"  he  smiled.  "  But  do  you  know 
what  that  lady  is  singing?  " 

"  Mrs.  Wilfley  said  it  was  to  be  Spanish,  I  think." 

"  Would  you  like  to  know  what  it  is  about  ?  " 

"  Is  it  —  saucy?  " 

"  Sauce,  yes.     Rather  hot  to  the  pnlate." 

"  Oh,  well,  I'd  like  to  know  then,"  she  dared,  looking  at  him 
at  last  as  she  was  accustomed  to  look  at  people. 

Mr.  Gilfillan  was  somewhat  taken  aback.  He  plumed  himself 
on  his  capacity,  his  proved  capacity  for  reading  character.  He 
maintained  it  was  half  the  battle  in  his  business,  which  was  com- 
pany promoting.  But  to  find  himself  so  very  correct  in  his 
diagnosis  of  a  casual  acquaintance  staggered  him. 

"You  won't  blame  me  afterwards?" 

"As  if  you  cared! " 

"  I  do.  I  care  about  the  opinion  every  one  has  of  me.  If  a 
man,  or  a  woman,  thinks  wrongly  of  me,  I  would  spend  a  great 
deal  of  time  and  money  to  put  them  right." 

"What  on  earth  for?" 

"  It  all  counts,  in  business." 

"  Does  it?     Are  you  in  business?  " 

"  I  am  an  engineer." 

"Are  you?     My  dad's  an  engineer." 

"Oh,  really.     Where  is  his  office?     I  don't  know  the  name." 

Minnie  indulged  a  titter. 


72  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

"  His  office !     He  works  at  McMuirland's,  in  the  City." 

"  Manager  ?  " 

Minnie  flushed  slowly.  "  No,"  she  replied.  "  When  I  said 
work,  I  meant  he's  a  workman." 

"  Then  he  is  a  mechanic.  The  word  engineer  is  wrongly 
applied  to  many  branches  of  industry.  Your  father,  for  in- 
stance, is  engaged  in  carrying  out  work  designed  by  engineers 
—  I  know  one  of  the  McMuirland's  —  just  as  a  bricklayer, 
plasterer,  or  stone-cutter  is  engaged  in  carrying  out  work  de- 
signed by  architects.  An  engineer  is  one  engaged  in  controlling 
and  applying  the  forces  of  nature  to  industrial  purposes.  He 
is  engaged  in  the  advancement  of  mechanical  science,  as  our 
Charter  of  George  the  Fourth  explicitly  states.  It  is  important 
that  every  one  should  understand  that." 

The  quiet  voice  finished  with  a  click.  It  was  natural  for 
Anthony  Gilfillan  to  take  the  trouble  to  explain  this  to  a  young 
girl.  He  would  have  explained  it  with  equal  lucidity  and  en- 
thusiasm to  an  old  woman.  .  .  .  He  gave  every  one  the  credit 
for  having  as  good  a  brain  as  himself.  He  himself  was  inter- 
ested in  all  the  details  of  another  man's  life  and  work.  He  was 
not  shocked  to  find  himself  talking  to  an  artisan's  daughter.  He 
himself  was  a  bootmaker's  son. 

The  quaint  Spanish  song  rattled  to  a  quaint  conclusion  of 
abysmal  double-meanings  and  the  lady  pulled  down  her  veil, 
took  her  gloves,  and  made  her  adieux.  Several  others  expressed 
themselves  desolated  to  miss  the  lecture,  and  Mrs.  Wilfley  smiled 
on  the  landing. 

"  How  are  you  two  getting  on?  "  she  asked  roguishly,  coming 
towards  them.  "  Oh,  Miss  Gooderich,  I'm  so  glad  you  came. 
If  you  can  only  wait  until  after  the  lecture?" 

"  Certainly,"  returned  Minnie,  watching  Mrs.  Wilfley  with 
some  curiosity  as  that  lady  accepted  a  cigarette  from  Mr.  Gil- 
fillan's  case.     "  I'll  wait  until  you  are  at  liberty." 

"  Thanks  so  much.     It  wants  talking  about,  you  see." 

Minnie  supposed  it  did,  though  she  was  still  mystified.  Mrs. 
Wilfley  sailed  away. 

"  Do  you  indulge  ?  "  The  cigarette-case  lay  on  Mr.  Gilfillan's 
palm,  open  and  tempting.  Minnie's  eyes  wandered  round  the 
room  for  a  single  brief  instant  in  a  scared  way,  and  then  her 
hand  reached  out  and  took  a  cigarette. 

"  Thank  you,"  she  said,  and  he  struck  a  match. 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  73 

"  I  prefer  a  woman  to  smoke/'  he  observed,  "  but  she  must 
do  it  because  she  likes  it.  Now,  so  many  only  light  them  and 
incur  a  headache." 

Minnie  wondered  what  the  young  man  in  the  coal-agent's 
office  would  have  said  now.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  tobacco  did 
soothe  her  nerves.     She  plunged  into  conversation. 

"  What  is  the  lecture  about  ?  "  she  began. 

Mr.  Gilfillan  fixed  her  with  his  deeply-set  eyes.  His  face 
had  the  tenseness  of  an  ascetic,  the  deep  eyes  of  a  visionary, 
the  alertness  of  a  man  of  business. 

"  Do  you  —  but  of  course  you  don't  —  know  anything  about 
Oriental  religions  ?  "  Minnie  shook  her  head,  bored  in  an- 
ticipation. 

"  You  have  heard  of  missionaries  ?  "     She  nodded. 

"  Going  from  London  to  India  ?  "     Another  nod. 

"  Well,  you  will  now  see  a  missionary  come  from  India  to 
London,  to  convert  us  to  her  own  religion.  Come,  let  us  go  in 
and  get  a  seat.     You  don't  mind  if  I  sit  next  you  ?  " 

"  Not  at  all,  Mr.  Gilfillan.  I  should  be  very  glad,  since  I 
don't  know  anybody." 

"  I  have  a  reason  for  asking  that,"  he  returned  in  his  crisp 
clicking  voice,  as  they  moved  towards  the  door.  Minnie  won- 
dered what  that  reason  might  be,  but  she  was  arrested  in  her 
reply  by  surprise  at  the  change  in  the  appearance  of  the  other 
room.  Orange-coloured  curtains  were  being  drawn  over  the 
windows  by  the  messenger-boys,  mellowing  the  light.  At  a  table 
stood  a  tawny-skinned  woman  in  a  dress  of  yellow  silk,  looking 
straight  before  her  with  large  prominent  eyes.  She  looked 
rather  effective  in  the  dim  orange-light,  her  wide  nostrils  flaring 
now  and  again  as  she  exhaled.  Other  people  in  the  room  were 
grouping  themselves  about  the  lounges  and  chairs  against  the 
windows.  Mrs.  Wilfley  was  whispering  here  and  smiling  there, 
directing  messenger-boys  as  they  removed  the  plates  and  cups. 
She  benmed  upon  Mr.  Gilfillan  and  beckoned  with  her  eyes. 

.Minnie  sat  down  near  a  small  bronze  devil  from  the  East  and 
gave  herself  up  to  confused  thought.  The  whole  business 
seemed  so  astonishingly  unreal  that  she  might  have  expected,  had 
she  been  imaginative,  to  wake  up  in  Maple  Avenue,  N.,  and  find 
Clifford's  Inn  a  dream.  What  would  the  coal-agent's  clerk  say? 
What  would  he  say?  She  was  not  imaginative,  and  therefore 
she  was  unable  to  tell  herself  what  he  would  say.     She  heard 


74  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

Mr.  Gilfillan  saying  something.  No  imagination  was  needed  to 
secure  Mr.  Gilfillan's  opinions.  You  had  them  clicked  into  your 
ear  in  excellent  English,  French,  German,  or  Spanish,  accord- 
ing to  your  nationality.  If  you  were  a  mother  he  talked  bicycles, 
babies,  and  bassinettes,  urging  the  superior  resiliency  of  inflated 
rubber  as  a  tyre  for  your  infant's  vehicle.  If  you  were  an 
astronomer,  he  presented  you  with  a  novel  and  soul-searching 
variation  of  the  pyknotic  theory,  a  variation  that  impressed 
you  even  though  it  might  have  made  Vogt  turn  in  his  grave. 
If  you  were  a  teacher,  his  views  on  teaching  a  plurality  of 
languages  would  confound  your  more  practical  brain,  and  he 
would  admit,  with  a  smile,  that  though  he  was  a  visionary  on 
these  matters,  his  daughter  had  been  educated  on  his  own  prin- 
ciples and  with  much  success.  If  you  were  by  any  chance 
artistic,  he  would  produce  a  drawing  cut  out  of  Jugend  or  the 
Figaro,  and  it  would  pay  you  to  listen  to  his  opinion  of  D.  Y. 
Cameron,  of  whom  he  had  an  early  example.  And  so,  since 
Minnie  was  an  inexperienced  young  woman  at  an  advanced 
theosophical  seance,  he  provided  her  with  information  concern- 
ing that  science,  information  as  well-ordered  as  an  algebraic 
formula,  as  luminous  as  one  of  his  own  highly-patented  electric 
lamps. 

It  is  true  that  she  did  not  comprehend  a  great  deal  of  Mr. 
Gilfillan's  definitions.  Those  who  live,  even  in  a  small  way,  in 
the  world  of  ideas,  gradually  adapt  common  speech,  to  their 
own  ends.  Mr.  Gilfillan,  who  lived  in  a  very  extensive  mansion 
in  the  world  of  ideas,  though  his  house  at  Stamford  Hill  was 
only  rated  at  thirty  pounds,  did  not,  acute  as  he  was,  realise 
that,  when  he  used  the  word  "  sympathy,"  Minnie  was  not  think- 
ing of  a  general  emotion  but  of  black-edged  handkerchiefs  at 
a  funeral.  So,  too,  when  he  said  "  association  of  ideas,"  Min- 
nie's mind  thought  of  co-operative  associations  and  political 
clubs.  The  saying  "  Death  is,  to  them,  only  a  recurring  incident 
in  an  endless  life,"  recalled  recurring  decimals  to  her  mind. 
"  Goodwill "  was  to  her  simply  the  goodwill  of  a  business,  which 
is  the  only  form  of  goodwill  ever  heard  of  in  suburban  life. 
Minnie  certainly  had  heard  the  phrase  "  Glory  to  God,  good- 
will to  man,"  but  that  was  poetry, —  it  did  not  count.  Alto- 
gether, Mr.  Gilfillan's  whispered  preliminary  did  not  assist 
Minnie  very  much  as  she  sat  eyeing  the  bronze  devil  near  by. 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  75 

And  then  the  tawny  woman  at  the  table  began  to  speak,  and 
Minnie  began  to  understand. 

There  was  no  preamble,  no  introduction,  no  firstly.  The 
tawny  woman  proceeded,  in  a  low  penetrating  voice,  to  outline 
the  latest  discoveries  of  her  sect  concerning  the  mystery  of 
existence.  "  If,"  said  she,  "  we  dissect  a  common  flower  " — 
and  Minnie's  attention  was  riveted.  She  had  dissected  a  com- 
mon flower. 

"If  we  dissect  a  common  flower,  we  find  sheath  after  sheath, 
and  in  the  centre  the  ovule.  Within  the  ovule  which  is  but  an- 
other sheath,  we  find  the  nucleus,  within  the  nucleus  we  find 
the  nucleolus.  This  is  the  embryo  of  the  future  plant.  This 
holds  good  throughout  all  nature  and  super-nature.  The  ovule, 
the  eggy  lying  quiescent,  patient,  waiting  for  the  male  influence 
to  begin  its  fertilising  work.  Without  conjunction  all  will  be 
in  vain.  So  it  is  with  the  world  of  yesterday  and  to-day.  The 
world  is  composed  of  sheath  upon  sheath  of  protective  needs  and 
interests,  within  we  find  masses  of  nutritious  knowledge  sur- 
rounding the  nucleus  and  nucleolus  of  passionate  desire,  waiting 
palpitatingly  for  the  coming  of  the  Sons  of  Mind.  So  it  was 
when  Sakya-muni  came,  so  it  was  when  Jesus  came,  so  it  is 
now !  " 

It  may  be  doubted  if  the  speaker  of  these  and  many  other 
similar  sentences  really  understood  what  she  was  saying.  She 
certainly  had  no  knowledge  of  the  ranging  impressions  which 
she  made  upon  the  different  persons  in  her  audience.  Minnie 
remembered  the  lectures  on  the  differentiation  of  sex  in  flowers, 
though  she  had  not  expected  so  peculiar  an  application  of  bo- 
tanical facts.  Mrs.  Wilfley  sat  smiling,  intently  absorbing  it 
all  for  purposes  of  adaptation,  for  she  was  an  expert  pilferer 
of  ideas.  She  saw  that  a  dextrous  combination  of  the  Sons  of 
Mind  and  the  Son  of  Man  would  "  rope  in  "  many  more  into 
her  "  public,"  for  she  had  a  public.  The  ideas  and  terminology 
of  the  lecturer  were  at  that  time  only  just  emerging  from  the 
brains  at  Benares,  and  Mrs.  Wilfley  saw  their  possibilities  for 
quasi-religious  literature.  Mr.  Gilflllan  was  also  smiling  a  little, 
but  he  was  not  absorbing.  Probably  because  he  was  a  Son  of 
Mind.  He  seemed  too  penetrating  to  absorb  anything.  A 
journalistic  barrister  and  a  dramatic-critic  near  him  looked 
firmly  at  their  boots,  for  they  were  believers.     When  you  be- 


76  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

lieve  in  a  religion  that  forbids  intolerance  and  frowns  on  prosely- 
tism,  you  must  look  at  your  boots  or  perish. 

"  We  must  not  be  led  away  by  illusions  as  to  our  own  great- 
ness. We  must  do  the  petty  duties  of  the  home  ere  we  gird  up 
our  loins  to  accomplish  the  mighty  deeds  of  a  Mahatma.  We 
must  feel  ere  we  can  conquer.  We  must  endure  agony  and  sweat 
ere  we  rise  in  triumph.  We  must  advance,  stage  by  stage,  death 
by  death  and  life  by  life,  till  of  outward  wrapping  the  Arhat 
is  ultimately  free,  and  we  can  enter  into  Nirvana,  the  place  of 
Peace  and  Rest." 

It  was  a  short  lecture,  as  lectures  go,  yet  they  felt  as  though 
they  had  sat  for  a  long  time.  Minnie  felt  a  certain  relief  as 
people  rose  to  pass  into  the  other  room,  and  Mr.  Gilfillan's  voice 
clicked  in  her  ear.  The  tawny  woman  passed  through  curtains 
over  a  door  at  the  back,  and  messenger-boys  invaded  the  rooms 
with  coffee  and  comestibles.  A  hum  of  conversation  rose,  the 
deep  growl  of  the  journalistic  barrister  mingled  with  the  cul- 
tured modulation  of  a  lady  in  black  silk.  Mr.  Gilfillan  pointed 
out  to  Minnie  a  picture  representing  Mr.  Richard  le  Gallienne 
carrying  a  lady's  petticoat  over  his  arm.  She  saw  no  humour 
in  it.  He  called  her  attention  to  a  photograph  of  Mrs.  Wilfley, 
dressed  in  a  loose  robe,  one  hand  on  a  marble  pedestal,  her  profile 
showing  effectively  against  a  dark  background,  her  eyes  raised 
in  the  manner  now  immortalised  in  "  The  Soul's  Awakening." 
To  emphasise  this,  a  copy  of  that  picture  hung  near  by  in  an 
inconspicuous  corner,  for  Mrs.  Wilfley  had  a  great  deal  of  that 
cleverness  which  consists  in  knowing  just  how  much  people  will 
stand.  She  knew  that  artistic,  Bohemian  people  disliked  "  The 
Soul's  Awakening,"  but  she  also  knew  that  they  unconsciously 
made  an  exception  of  Olga  Berenice  Wilfley,  author  of  The 
Licencees  of  Love.  She  was  aware,  also,  that  a  new  influence 
was  in  the  air,  and  she  meant  to  work  that  new  influence  for 
all  it  was  worth.  Yes,  the  hard  rationalism  of  Huxley  and  his 
followers  was  done  for.  Religion  was  going  to  have  another 
turn.  The  soul  was  awakening,  and  Mrs.  Wilfley  was  right 
there  with  the  goods. 


XIV 

MINNIE'S  ideas  of  the  poetry  and  sensuousness  of  life 
had  been  formed  to  a  great  extent  from  the  works 
of  Augusta  Wilson.  At  the  Mercy  of  Tiberius  had 
stirred  her  depths  when  she  had  read  it,  some  years 
before,  and,  though  by  now  the  impression  had  dimmed,  it  was 
still  there.  St.  Elmo  and  Infelice  (pronounced  English  style) 
were  fine,  but  Tiberius  was  terrible.  If  her  somewhat  cool 
temperament  had  ever  permitted  her  to  soar  and  dream  a  silly 
girl's  dreams,  she  had  imagined  herself  in  the  future  as  a  Beryl 
Brentano  against  the  world.  Perhaps  her  occupation  having 
sometimes  to  do  with  Christmas  Cards  and  being  at  any  rate 
artistic,  assisted  her,  for  did  not  the  stately  Beryl,  in  the  inter- 
vals of  melodrama  and  to  stave  off  the  romantic  poverty  of  New 
York  City,  design  Christmas  Cards?  Truly  the  Brentano  de- 
voted herself  to  her  handsome  brother,  and  the  beauty  of  sacri- 
ficing anything  to  either  Bert  or  Hannibal  had  not  been  revealed 
to  Minnie,  who  generally  skipped  the  affectionate  parts  of  stories 
and  of  life.  But  Tiberius  himself,  handsome,  stern,  blue-eyed, 
impossible  either  to  gods  or  men,  seemed  to  her  a  good  working 
ideal;  and  now  Mr.  Anthony  Gilfillan,  quite  unconscious  of  the 
honour  done  him,  for  he  was  a  widower  with  a  young  daughter, 
was  raised  to  the  shadowy  throne  and  invested  with  the  awful 
attributes  of  a  Lenox  Dunbar. 

One  by  one,  two  by  two,  and  in  one  case  in  a  party  of  four, 
the  guests  rose,  shook  hands  in  a  way  so  distracting  to  Minnie 
that  she  was  hypnotised  by  it  again  and  again,  and  departed 
with  messenger-boys  in  attendance. 

"  I  find,"  said  Mr.  Gilfillan,  **  that  Miss  Gooderich  lives  in 
my  part  of  London,  so  I'll  return,  if  I  may,  and  show  her  the 
quickest  route  to  King's  Cross."  And  he  looked  keenly  at  his 
watch,  calculated  with  thumb  and  finger  on  chin  for  a  moment, 
smiled,  turned  suddenly  on  the  waiting  messenger-boy,  accepted 
his  hat  and  attache  case,  and  prepared  to  depart. 

"  There's  no  need  to  trouble,"  said  Minnie,  gratified. 

77 


78  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

"  No  trouble  at  all.  I  have  a  call  to  pay  in  the  Charing 
Cross  Road,  I  have  ten  minutes  to  get  there.  I  shall  be  back 
in  an  hour  exactly.     Till  then.  .  .  ."     And  he  was  gone. 

Mrs.  Wilfley  looked  at  Miss  Gooderich  narrowly. 

Miss  Gooderich  regarded  Mrs.  Wilfley  respectfully,  realising 
once  more  that  she  had  come  "  about  a  situation." 

Mrs.  Wilfley  rose  and  stood  by  the  grand  piano,  arranging 
and  re-arranging  some  flowers  in  a  Chinese  vase. 

"  I  mentioned  to  Mrs.  Worrall  some  time  ago,"  she  observed 
with  a  new  inflexion  in  her  voice,  "  that  my  work  and  my  health 
would  force  me  to  secure  the  services  of  an  assistant.  Certain 
circumstances  " —  here  she  paused  effectively  — "  made  it  im- 
possible for  me  to  advertise  through  Mrs.  Worrall  in  the  ordinary 
way.  An  alien  influence  at  work,  lack  of  sympathy  in  my  as- 
sistants, would  prove  to  be  a  deterrent  to  my  own  efforts.  I 
scarcely  " —  Mrs.  Wilfley  smiled  — "  I  scarcely  expected  to  hear 
from  my  friend  so  soon." 

"  Your  friend  must  have  made  a  mistake,"  Minnie  said  quickly. 
"  I  couldn't  be  your  assistant.  I've  no  experience.  I've  been 
in  a  photo  factory." 

"  Ah,  not  immediately.  My  idea  was,  to  train  some  one  in  my 
own  methods.  The  remuneration  would  be  small  for  a  time, 
and  then  it  would  depend  on  yourself.  You  could  begin  learn- 
ing shorthand  and  the  typewriter,  you  know.  I  should  prefer 
to  dictate.  The  drudgery  of  writing  is  so  exhausting,  and  my 
health  is  very  precarious." 

"What  will  the  wages  be,  to  start?"  asked  Minnie.  Mrs. 
Wilfley  looked  pained  at  such  directness. 

"  Had  we  not  better,  perhaps,  leave  that  for  a  week  or  two. 
Shall  we  say,  a  probationary  month?" 

"  I'd  like  to  know  what  to  expect,"  the  girl  persisted.  "  I'd 
know  where  I  was  then." 

Mrs.  Wilfley 's  pain  increased.  She  coughed  into  her  hand- 
kerchief. 

"  You  see,  you  have,  as  you  say,  no  experience.  Perhaps  an 
honorarium  of  eight  shillings"  a  week " 

"  I've  been  getting  twelve." 

Mrs.  Wilfley  was  sharp  enough  to  realise  a  bargain.  She 
saw  that  this  cool  competent  young  woman  might  be  the  very 
person  she  was  looking  for.  She  saw,  moreover,  that  the  young 
woman  might  shy  off  if  the  salary  were  too  low. 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  79 

"  Well,  shall  we  say  twelve,  after  a  probationary  month?  " 

"  I'm  sorry  I  can't  live  on  air  even  for  a  month,  Mrs.  Wilfley. 
I  knew  shorthand  at  school,  and  I  daresay  I  can  soon  pick  it  up 
again.  And  I  don't  suppose  the  typewriter  is  very  difficult.  If 
you'll  give  me  twelve  shillings  a  week  I'll  start  to-morrow.  I 
shall  have  fares  to  pay  too,  a  season  ticket  and  all.  It'll  be  a 
tight  fit  for  me,  even  on  twelve  shillings." 

"  Very  good,  then  that  is  settled,"  knowing  she  could  not  get 
a  qualified  woman  to  assist  her  for  less  than  a  couple  of  pounds 
a  week.  "  I  do  hope,"  she  said,  going  over  to  Minnie  and  taking 
her  hands,  "  I  do  hope  we  shall  be  friends." 

"  Yes,  I  hope  so,"  said  Minnie,  shrivelling  a  little  at  the  gush. 
"  Will  you  tell  me  what  I  have  to  do?  " 

"  To-morrow,  to-morrow.  I  was  intending  to  have  some  one 
who  could  live  here  with  me,  or  at  any  rate,  in  the  Inn.  When 
I  am  in  the  mood,  you  know,  I  go  on  till  I  drop,  and  then  per- 
haps I  cannot  touch  a  pen  for  several  days.  It  is  the  artistic 
temperament." 

"  Oh ! "  remarked  Minnie.  She  was  singularly  helpless 
against  the  mild  gush  usually  affected  by  women  like  Mrs. 
Wilfley. 

"You  like  Mr.  Gilfillan?" 

"  Yes,  he  is  very  nice,"  returned  Minnie  frankly.  "  He  talked 
to  me  all  the  time." 

"  I  shall  be  jealous !  "  with  unendurable  roguishness.  "  Quite 
like  some  of  those  quaint  romances  one  used  to  rave  over.  The 
stranger-maiden  fascinates  the  heroine's  great  friend.  You 
mustn't  spoil  our  palship,  Miss  Goodcrich.  But  you  must  know 
his  little  girl,  such  a  jolly  little  kid." 

"  Is  he  married?  "  Mr.  Gilfillan's  attitude  was  now  partially 
explained. 

"  His  wife  died  some  years  ago,  poor  thing.  His  sister  keeps 
house  for  him.  So  different  from  him.  He  is  awfully  clever. 
Did  you  like  Miss  Rathstein?  I  saw  you  talking  to  her.  She's 
very  clever.     She  writes." 

During  this  monologue,  Mrs.  Wilfley  was  moving  about,  taking 
up  books,  laying  down  books,  shifting  ornaments,  finally  seating 
herself  at  the  table  and  drawing  a  sheaf  of  papers  from  a  locked 
drawer.  Minnie  watched  her  dispassionately,  thinking  of  Mr. 
Gilfillan's  little  girl.  So  he  was  a  widower.  Mrs.  Wilfley  went 
on  talking,  as  she  wrote  on  the  margin  of  a  sheet  of  MS. 


80  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

"  Did  you  like  the  lecture?  But  of  course  you  found  it  rather 
deep.     Miss  Angarali  is  so  very  advanced." 

Minnie  had  a  premonition  that  this  sort  of  thing  would  prove 
tiresome.  She  was  unable  to  understand  people  like  the  lady 
before  her,  who,  without  any  ulterior  motive  and  quite  uncon- 
scious, I  believe,  of  the  inanity  of  their  conduct,  judge  heaven 
and  earth,  past,  present,  and  future,  animate  and  inanimate, 
phenomena  and  noumena,  merely  as  all  these  things  affect  them- 
selves. There  is  no  sequence  in  their  excogitations.  Their 
brains  work  like  an  exercise  in  Aim's  First  Course. 

"  Dante  saw  a  vision  of  Heaven  and  Hell,"  you  say. 

"How  quaint!     Do  you  like  Dante?"  they  query. 

"  I  John,  saw  these  things,"  thunders  the  prisoner  of  Patmos. 

"I  don't  care  for  Revelation,  do  you?  Too  mystical  for  my 
taste." 

Minnie,  possibly  because  of  her  plebeian  origin,  had  a  mind 
of  denser  texture.  Her  opinion  of  Miss  Rathstein,  for  example, 
had  nothing  in  it  of  like  or  dislike.  You  might  as  well  have 
asked  her  if  she  liked  the  grass  in  Clifford's  Inn.  Similarly  with 
the  lecture.  If  Mrs.  Wilfley  had  said,  "  Did  you  understand 
the  lecture?"  she  would  have  replied  promptly,  "Some  of  it." 
But  Minnie  had  no  conception  of  the  rack  upon  which  the  Olga 
Wilfleys  torture  themselves,  the  rack  of  Culture  which  forces 
them  to  fake  matured  opinions  and  fixed  preferences  concerning 
all  things  that  were  ever  seen  in  dreams  or  written  down  in 
books. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  this  Board  School  girl  had  a  clearer 
conception  of  the  processes  used  as  illustrations  by  the  the- 
osophist  than  the  journalist  whose  knowledge  of  flowers  was 
limited  to  colour,  smell,  and  the  extraordinary  names  in  nursery 
catalogues.  Even  at  that  moment,  in  a  corner  of  the  house  in 
Maple  Avenue,  were  hidden  those  neat  note-books,  with  their 
little  sketches  in  coloured  inks,  which  "  Old  Piper  "  had  marked 
"  V.G."  and  "  Ex."  with  such  keen  pleasure.  Nevertheless,  she 
sat  quiescent,  waiting  for  the  return  of  Mr.  Gilfillan.  The 
coarser  mesh  of  her  intellect  allowed  things  like  theosophy  and 
phrenology  to  drop  through  out  of  sight. 

At  length  he  came,  within  a  minute  or  two  of  the  hour  he 
had  proposed  to  take.  He  was  not  flushed  with  haste:  he  seemed, 
on  the  contrary,  cooler  than  ever.  Mr.  Gilfillan  was  that  sort 
of  man.     He  did  not  appear  to  be  in  the  thick  of  one  of  the  most 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  81 

exciting  events  in  his  career,  namely,  the  flotation  of  an  inter- 
national syndicate.  He  had  discovered,  early  in  life,  that  the 
world  belongs  to  the  enthusiast  who  keeps  cool.  Like  the 
mediaeval  saints,  he  was  consumed  with  a  passion  for  converting 
the  world  to  his  own  way  of  thinking.  Like  them,  also,  he  sat, 
so  to  speak,  up  to  the  middle  in  snow. 

Minnie  rose,  tingling,  looking  round  the  walls  of  the  room, 
after  the  fashion  of  one  about  to  depart.  Mrs.  Wilfley  shook 
hands  with  Mr.  Gilfillan  in  the  manner  already  dear  to  Minnie 
—  hands  held  level  with  the  chin. 

"When  shall  I  see  you  again,  Tony?"  said  Mrs.  Wilfley, 
pushing  her  manuscript  out  of  the  way  and  rising. 

Mr.  Gilfillan,  drawing  his  chin  back  into  his  collar,  and  strok- 
ing the  creases  this  formed,  named  a  date. 

"  And  there's  next  Sunday,  you  know.  We're  going  out  to 
Richmond  to  lunch  at  the  '  Greyhound.'  " 

Mr.  Gilfillan  protested  he  had  forgotten,  in  the  press  of  busi- 
ness, the  affair  at  the  "  Greyhound  "  at  Richmond. 

"  But  you  don't  mean  to  say  you've  forgotten  and  made  an- 
other appointment?"  she  cried.  He  thrust  his  chin  sharply 
forward,  took  it  firmly  in  his  fingers,  and  nodded,  looking  pen- 
sive. 

"I  have  done  just  that,"  he  returned.  "For  once  will  you 
excuse  me?     I  have  been  somewhat  preoccupied  .  .  ." 

He  did  not  tell  Mrs.  Wilfley  that  he  had,  since  the  previous 
morning,  dictated  a  hundred  and  forty-two  letters,  held  twenty- 
one  consultations  with  his  board,  spoken  to  thirty  people  on  the 
telephone,  written  fourteen  telegrams  and  six  cablegrams,  and 
paid  several  calls  to  solicitors,  patent  agents,  and  underwriters' 
offices.  It  would  be  no  use  telling  Mrs.  Wilfley  all  this.  She 
would  only  simper  and  ask  what  the  letters  were  about.  He 
did  not  tell  her  that  he  had  come  to  her  flat  that  afternoon  be- 
cause he  hoped  to  see  Miss  Rathstein's  employer  as  well  as  Miss 
Rathstcin  herself.  He  was  not  such  a  fool  as  to  go  to  a  City 
Editor  in  his  office.  The  man  selling  papers  at  the  corner  of  the 
street  was  probably  in  the  pay  of  the  rags  which  throve  on 
damning  speculative  businesses.  He  did  not  tell  her  that  he  had 
gone  to  the  Charing  Cross  Road  because  he  might  meet  the  City 
Editor  in  the  brand  new  vegetarian  restaurant  —  that  restaurant 
which  failed  so  brilliantly  a  year  later  —  for  the  City  Editor  wa3 
a  vegetarian  as  well  as  a  Theosophist.     All  this  was  going  on 


82  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

and  Mrs.  Wilfley,  "who  prided  herself  on  managing  Tony,  did 
not  know  anything  about  it.  He  had  no  appointment,  as  yet, 
to  clash  with  the  "  Greyhound  "  lunch,  but  in  the  rush  of  the 
past  few  days  Mrs.  Wilfley  and  her  outlook  on  life  had  grown 
distasteful.  It  was  only  a  transitory  indifference,  of  course, 
for  he  knew  to  the  full  the  aptitude  of  the  lady  in  that  art  which 
he  himself  cultivated  so  strenuously,  the  Art  of  Publicity.  He 
knew  how  useful  to  him  she  could  be  later  on,  when  he  hoped  to 
have  the  leisure  to  elaborate  the  details  of  his  masterpiece,  "  Gil- 
fillan  Filaments  Limited."  How  these  two  people  of  diverse 
yet  indisputable  cleverness  pursued  their  way  up  the  secret 
paths  to  fame  and  fortune,  how  they  ultimately  placed  the  girl 
who  now  stood  between  them  in  a  position  that,  to  her  own  aston- 
ishment (and  their  own  as  well  perhaps),  developed  her  powers 
in  a  most  unexpected  way,  will  be  told  in  its  proper  place.  For 
the  present  it  will  suffice  to  indicate  lightly  the  limitations  of 
their  intimacy. 

The  worldly  relations  of  men  and  women  often  form  an  equa- 
tion that  cancels  out  without  warning  when  some  insignificant 
factor  has  been  added  to  either  side.  In  the  case  of  Anthony 
Gilfillan  and  Mrs.  Wilfley,  Minnie  was  such  a  factor.  Her 
unwitting  interposition  had  dissolved  the  kinetic  forces  at  play 
between  them  and  left  them  in  a  condition  of  static  apathy. 
Even  Mrs.  Wilfley,  though  she  had  a  certain  slovenliness  of  mind 
that  rendered  her  inattentive  to  the  niceties  of  psychological 
analysis,  was  conscious  of  a  change  in  the  air  as  Mr.  Gilfillan 
and  Minnie  took  their  departure.  For  a  brief  moment  a  faint 
suspicion,  like  the  clouding  of  a  mirror  by  a  human  breath, 
crossed  her  mind,  a  faint  suspicion  that  Tony  was  not  unaware 
of  her  wiles,  and  knew  just  how  strong  or  how  weak  they  were, 
just  how  easily  snapped.  For  a  moment  this  mood  was  reflected 
in  her  face.  And  then  the  absurdity  of  it  made  her  smile. 
That  chit!  Ridiculous!  Why,  she  was  vulgar  and  suburban. 
Good  material  doubtless,  but  Tony  would  fly  higher  than  that. 
...  A  woman  must  have  intellect  to  capture  Tony,  eh?  .  .  ♦ 

And  the  breath  of  suspicion  vanished,  like  any  other  breath. 

While  Mrs.  Wilfley  was  indulging  in  these  pensive  reflections, 
Mademoiselle  Minnie  and  Anthony  Gilfillan  have  got  themselves 
out  of  Clifford's  Inn  and  are  walking  down  Fleet  Street.  Unless 
you  remember  that  the  gentleman  was  rather  tall,  wore  a  silk 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  83 

hat,  and  carried  a  leather  attache  case,  you  might  not  be  able 
to  pick  them  out  of  the  human  tide  that  surged  eastward  down 
that  narrow  gorge  and  swirled  into  a  seething  vortex  at  Ludgate 
Circus.  There  they  were,  however,  their  shadows  lengthening 
on  the  flags  before  them,  and  at  Cook's  corner  they  turned  into 
the  shadow  and  comparative  quiet  of  Farringdon  Street.  Not 
before  the  gentleman  had  bought  papers,  however,  a  pink  paper, 
a  green  paper,  and  a  white  paper,  which  he  folded  small  and 
put  away  in  the  attache  case. 

The  conversation,  it  appears,  was  of  season  tickets  and  the 
Expense  of  Life. 

"  It's  robbery  and  imposition,  I  know,  but  they  have  you  in 
their  power.  That's  why  I  don't  live  on  that  line.  My  line  has 
competitors,  you  see,  and  they  are  kept  straight.  People  won- 
der why  Home  Rails  are  moribund.  No  competition.  In 
business  a  man  should  love  his  competitor  like  a  brother.  Of 
course  you  get  the  ten  bob  back  when  you  give  up  the  ticket." 

"  All  these  things  make  it  very  expensive  to  be  in  the  City." 

"  True,  but  where  else  can  you  be  ?  The  suburbs  are  merely 
vast  dormitories,  where  a  man  may  sleep  in  comparatively  pure 
air,  while  his  office  is  being  washed,  in  fact.  People  complain 
of  their  train  services.  I  maintain  that  we  who  work  in  the 
City  should  need  but  two  trains  a  day  —  the  first  train  and  the 
last  train." 

"  That  'ud  be  a  long  day,"  commented  Minnie. 

"  With  a  siesta  —  a  rest  during  midday,"  he  added,  with  a 
far-away  look  in  his  eyes.  "  But  I  am  a  visionary  in  these 
matters.     You  were  saying ?" 

"  I  wasn't  saying  anything,  but  I  was  thinking  that  there'd 
be  a  riot  if  some  of  your  ideas  got  about." 

"  Possibly,  possibly.     You  dislike  ideas  ?  " 

"Me?  No,  I  like  people  to  have  some  ideas  in  their  heads. 
Precious  few  about  in  my  part  of  the  world  though.  And  what 
there  are  don't  do  people  much  good." 

"How  is  that?" 

"Well,  look  at  this  Tetratint  idea.  It's  a  good  idea,  and  I 
know  it  makes  better  prints  than  we  can  do,  and  so  it  ought 
to  be  used.  And  it  gives  me  the  push,"  she  added,  without  ill- 
feeling. 

"  Perhaps  a  push  is  what  you  needed  to  make  you  get  on. 


84  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

I  owe  my  success  to  being  pushed  out  of  jobs  too  small  for  me. 
An  idea  is  really  a  brain-push.  Sometimes  it  pushes  a  man  to 
success,  sometimes  to  despair." 

"  There  was  a  minister  in  our  district,  a  very  nice  man,  who 
was  a  bit  cranky  in  his  ideas,"  contributed  Minnie.  "  People 
didn't  know  what  he  was,  he  preached  such  queer  sermons. 
Then  he  got  the  idea  everybody  went  to  heaven  at  last,  and  that 
did  it.     He  got  the  bag,  too." 

"  A  Universalist,"  laughed  Mr.  Gilfillan.  "  Fancy !  That 
must  have  been  a  long  while  ago." 

"  I  was  a  little  girl  and  heard  them  talking  about  him,"  said 
Minnie.     "  His  ideas  didn't  do  him  much  good." 

"  No.  Mind  the  cart.  Have  you  settled  with  Mrs.  Wilfley  ?  " 
he  asked  as  they  passed  into  Farringdon  Street  Station. 

"  Well,  I  really  don't  know  what  to  make  of  Mrs.  Wilfley, 
and  that's  a  fact,"  she  replied.  "  She  had  the  nerve  to  ask  me 
to  take  eight  shillings  a  week,  when  I've  been  lifting  twelve. 
That  put  my  back  up,  I  can  tell  you.  And  then  she  wanted  me 
for  nothing  for  a  month,  if  you  please.  And  then  she  said  she 
wanted  me  to  live  in.  And  after  a  lot  of  jabber  about  her  own 
queer  ways  I  don't  even  know  what  I've  got  to  do  for  her." 

They  were  descending  the  stairs  to  the  platform,  and  Mr. 
Gilfillan  stopped,  put  his  hand  on  the  girl's  shoulder,  and  turned 
her  round  to  him.     People  passing  them  were  amused. 

"  I  think  you  will  suit  Mrs.  Wilfley,"  he  said,  with  a  curious 
grin  on  his  face.  "  You  will  be  like  two  cats  sometimes,  but 
she  will  find  you  useful." 

"But  what  is  it  I'm  to  do?  Take  down  what  she  says  in 
shorthand?" 

"  At  times,  but  women  are  seldom  in  the  habit  of  dictating. 
You  may  have  to  make  suggestions,  run  errands,  cash  postal 
orders,  and  entertain  people." 

"Me!" 

"Why  not?" 

"Me?" 

"  Precisely.  Mrs.  Wilfley  will  no  doubt  be  glad  to  use  any 
ideas  you  have."  He  nodded  to  the  barmaid  who  was  looking 
out  over  a  counter  on  the  platform. 

When  they  were  in  the  train,  he  told  her  that  he  would  be 
delighted  to  see  her  over  at  Stamford  Hill  some  evening  to  meet 
his  sister  and  daughter.     Minnie  was  interested  in  that  daugh- 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  85 

l?r,  bat  she  was  afraid  it  would  be  bad  manners  to  ask  questions. 
So  she  said  she'd  be  very  pleased  if  it  wasn't  any  inconvenience 
to  them,  and,  after  shaking  hands  with  him,  watched  him  descend 
at  Finsbury  Park  and  vanish  among  a  dense  crowd  of  people 
bound  homeward  to  High  Barnet,  New  Barnet,  Finchley,  En- 
field, and  beyond. 

She  proceeded  to  adjust  her  thoughts  to  the  return  to  Maple 
Avenue. 


XV 

WHILE  his  sister  Minnie  was  standing  in  the  Ken- 
sington Stationery  Emporium  and  High-Class 
Servants'  Registry  Office,  little  Hannibal  Gooderich 
was  sitting  at  a  pitch-pine  reversible  desk  in  the 
Trinity  Road  Higher  Grade  Board  School,  engaged  in  the  study 
of  Art.  Twenty-three  other  little  boys  were  in  the  same  busi- 
ness. They  constituted  the  Fourth  Standard,  and  the  subject 
was  Freehand  Drawing.  On  an  easel  beside  the  teacher's  desk 
hung  a  book  of  outline  figures,  open  at  Number  Six,  which  was 
a  Greek  amphora.  The  Board  School  method  of  drawing  an 
amphora  was  simply  explained  on  a  blackboard  near  the  easel. 
You  drew  a  centre  line  very  lightly  by  repeated  strokes  of  the 
pencil.  Then  you  looked  at  your  neighbour's  efforts  and  com- 
pared notes  in  whispers.  If  you  escaped  detection,  you  pro- 
ceeded to  draw  cross-lines  indicating  the  top,  the  middle,  and 
4:he  narrow  waist  of  the  base,  holding  your  rubber  in  the  left 
hand  and  so  making  it  unfit  for  use  when  most  needed.  Then 
you  began  to  build  upon  this  rectilinear  scaffolding  an  approxi- 
mation of  the  copy  on  the  easel.  It  is  best  to  do  one  side  first 
and  then  bring  the  other  as  near  as  you  can  to  that.  If  you 
had  looked  over  Hannibal's  shoulder  you  would  have  seen  a 
shaky  framework  supporting  a  vague  blob  of  rubbed-out  pencil 
marks,  several  finger  smudges,  and  a  moist  patch  in  the  middle 
showing  where  Hannibal  had  been  breathing  hard.  The 
handles  had  not  yet  been  attempted.  Hannibal  never  did 
attempt  the  handles  of  the  copies.  The  teacher  always  gave 
the  word  "  Line  in ! "  before  he  had  disposed  of  the  body  to 
any  one's  satisfaction.  When  the  order  "  Line  in,"  came,  you 
rubbed  out  all  you  could  of  the  scaffolding  and  the  erratic  tags 
of  the  figure,  and  wetting  the  blacklead  with  your  tongue,  bore 
down  hard  and  hoped  it  would  look  all  right. 

Having  done  one  side,  Hannibal  blew  out  his  cheeks,  peeped 
over  his  neighbour's  shoulder,  looked  at  the  clock,  the  copy,  and 
the  teacher,  and  partook  of  a  pear-drop. 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  87 

"  You  said  you  'adn't  got  any  more/'  remarked  his  left-hand 
neighbour  with  some  bitterness. 

"  I  ain't.  Foun'  it  in  me  'ank'chief,"  mumbled  the  artist, 
squinting  horribly  with  his  head  close  to  the  paper. 

"  Gahn\  I  can  see  'em,"  was  the  retort,  and  Artist  Number 
Two  twisted  round  to  pick  up  his  india-rubber  and  incidentally 
take  a  view  of  Hannibal's  coat  pocket.  The  clever  boy  at  draw- 
ing in  the  Fourth  Standard  sat  at  the  end  of  the  form,  three  boys 
away,  and  he  now  looked  severely  over  the  bent  backs  and 
whispered  with  a  virtuous  indignation  intended  for  the  teacher's 
ears,  "  Don't  shake !  " 

I  often  wonder  if  those  clever  boys  have  ever  got  enough  love 
from  women  to  balance  the  black  hatred  that  was  handed  out 
to  them  in  their  adolescence. 

Instantly  the  teacher  pounced  upon  the  inverted  artist,  hunt- 
ing, like  some  Congo  native,  for  rubber. 

"  What's  the  matter  here?  What  'yo'  doing?  Eh?  Rubber? 
Get  on  with  yo'  work.  There's  nothing  to  rub  out  yet.  Who's 
eating  sweets?  Gooderieh,  stand  on  the  form.  Eh?  Stand 
on  the  form,  I  say ! " 

Nothing  loath,  Hannibal  relinquished  the  amphora,  and  having 
swallowed  the  remains  of  the  pear-drop  as  he  raised  his  eyes 
in  wondering  innocence  to  the  teacher's  face,  climbed  upon  the 
form.  You  can  see  him  now,  a  thin-legged  stocky  lad  of  eleven, 
his  rather  uninteresting  features  set  in  a  mask  of  anger  and 
contempt  towards  the  industrious  clever  creature  who  had  com- 
plained of  some  one  shaking.  It  was  the  clever  boy's  custom 
to  finish  first,  and  then  put  up  his  hand  ostentatiously. 

"  Please,  sir,  can  I  line  in?  " 

This  was  to  inform  the  class  that  once  more  he  had  out- 
stripped them  in  Art.  The  class  had  no  objection  to  this.  The 
whole  shoot  of  them  would  have  seen  the  clever  boy  burnt  at 
the  stake  in  a  bonfire  of  his  own  drawings  with  loud  hurrahs, 
but  the  reason  would  not  have  been  his  cleverness,  but  his  insuf- 
ferable airs  of  superior  friendliness  with  teacher. 

"Please,  sir,  can  I  line  in?"  Then  the  teacher  would  come 
round  and  lean  over  him  fondly  and  a  whispered  discussion 
would  ensue,  and  boys  farthest  away  would  use  the  precious 
interlude  to  cram  comestibles  into  their  mouths  and  reduce  them 
to  invisible  proportions  before  the  teacher  resumed  his  glare  in 
front 


88  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

This  time  the  monumental  figure  on  the  form  caught  the 
teacher's  eye  as  he  turned  to  give  the  order. 

"  Sit  down  and  get  on  with  yo'  work,  Gooderich.  Line  in 
now." 

And  with  much  scuffling  of  india-rubber,  much  hitching  into 
new  positions,  much  rapping  of  pencils  against  teeth  as  they 
gazed,  open-mouthed,  at  the  snug  perfection  of  the  copy  and 
their  own  ghastly  travesties  of  it,  twenty-four  little  boys  began 
to  "  line  in." 

Hannibal  had  yet  another  misfortune  before  the  lesson  fin- 
ished. The  teacher  was  passing  behind  him  with  that  pecul- 
iarly obnoxious  way  teachers  have,  shuffling  along  side-ways  to 
avoid  collision  with  the  artists  who  drew  with  their  books  at  an 
angle.  Hannibal  was  perspiring  with  his  lining-in  efforts.  A 
partly-dissolved  pear-drop  lay  on  his  tongue.  The  teacher 
leaned  over  benignantly  to  see  what  strange  forms  Hannibal  had 
been  evolving,  and  even  condescended  to  flick  a  crumb  of  rub- 
ber from  one  corner.  Several  other  crumbs  lay  about,  and  Han- 
nibal, anxious  to  assist  the  teacher  in  the  good  work,  tried  to 
blow  them  away.  The  elusive  pear-drop  only  too  readily  slipped 
from  its  moorings,  shot  out  upon  the  paper,  and  bounded  into 
space. 

Tableau ! 

"  Give  them  to  me." 

With  agony  in  his  heart  Hannibal  produced  a  sticky  bag  of 
pear-drops.  The  teacher  looked  at  them  with  a  grimace  and 
pointed  to  his  desk. 

"  Put  them  on  there  and  go  and  stand  in  the  corner." 

Strange  to  state,  Hannibal  Gooderich  had  no  objection  to 
standing  in  the  corner.  It  provided  him  with  a  quiet  spot  in 
which  he  could  take  out  his  hatred  of  clever  boys  who  could 
draw,  and  unfolding  it,  so  to  speak,  examine  it  at  leisure,  adding 
fresh  touches  to  the  vision,  devising  new  humiliations  for  the 
intellectuals  of  Trinity  Road.  He  had  no  animus  against  the 
teacher.  He,  poor  man,  was  paid  to  be  a  tyrant  and  a  bully, 
and  at  half-past  four  his  dominion  ended  for  the  day.  Never 
having  heard  of  a  life  without  school,  save  in  the  frankly  im- 
possible careers  of  Frank  Read's  heroes,  Hannibal  supposed  the 
teacher  to  be  an  unavoidable  adjunct  to  terrestrial  existence. 
But  clever  boys  had  no  such  justification.  They  were  excres- 
cences, freaks,  abominations.     Board  School  boys  are  less  tol- 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  89 

crant  than  any  of  "  exceptional  ability."  Many  of  those  who 
possess  it  are  not  slow  to  disparage  it.  One  boy  who  had  won 
a  scholarship  of  twenty  pounds  a  year  for  three  years,  had 
worked  for  it  under  the  impression  that  a  munificent  County 
Council  was  to  hand  him  each  year  twenty  pounds  in  cash  to 
spend  as  he  liked.  His  horror,  when  he  realised  that  it  meant 
more  education,  was  only  equalled  by  that  of  his  parents,  who 
immediately  removed  him  from  the  clutches  of  the  school  au- 
thorities and  placed  him  in  Everard's  Livery  and  Bait  Stables, 
in  Whitehart  Lane.  Hannibal  used  to  hear  of  him,  and  see 
him  too  sometimes,  astride  of  one  horse  and  leading  another, 
wearing  breeches  inconceivably  tight  at  the  knees  and  roomy 
at  the  hips,  soft  gaiters,  and  little  black-and-white  striped  col- 
lars of  india-rubber.  What  happiness!  Hannibal  and  many 
others  immured  in  the  Trinity  Road  dungeons  used  to  think  of 
that  radiant  being  as  one  already  in  paradise,  and  modelled  their 
own  dreams  of  future  bliss  upon  his  legendary  exploits. 

Hannibal  had  not  long  stood  meditating  in  the  corner  when 
a  hum  of  excitement  communicated  itself  to  the  class.  The 
Third  Standard  was  on  the  move,  the  Fifth  was  to  be  heard 
tramping  overhead,  the  Sixth,  Seventh,  and  ex-Seventh  were 
forming  up  against  the  great  curtains  that  divided  the  room,  and 
the  head  master  came  hurrying  in  with  a  baton  in  his  hand  (a 
"pointer"  Hannibal  called  it),  and  conversed  rapidly  and  in- 
tensely with  the  Fourth  Standard  master. 

A  rehearsal  of  the  operetta  was  impending. 

Lest  the  authorities  should,  however  improbably,  insert  into 
the  curriculum  of  the  school  some  familiar  and  useful  study, 
the  teachers  of  the  school,  incited  by  a  new  head  master  who 
was  extraordinarily  keen  on  music,  had  formed  the  project  of 
producing  at  the  Assembly  Hall  an  entirely  new  and  original 
two-act  operetta  entitled  A  Life  on  the  Ocean  Blue.  By  cur- 
tailing the  arithmetic  and  abolishing  (temporarily)  the  reading 
classes,  sufficient  time  was  obtained  to  make  a  daily  rehearsal 
practicable.  This  took  place  in  a  large  room  upstairs  at  the  end 
of  the  day,  and  the  romantic  pseudo-Italian  music  effectually 
erased  from  the  minds  of  the  singers  any  ideas  they  may  have 
intercepted  during  the  day. 

Hannibal  being  bidden  to  return  to  his  place  and  put  his 
things  away,  the  whole  class  stood  to  attention,  left-turned, 
marked- time,  right- wheeled,  forwarded,  left-right,  left-right,  up- 


90  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

stairs,  colliding  with  the  Third  Standard  in  the  act  of  deploying 
to  their  accustomed  seats  by  the  windows,  and  finally  subsided 
into  the  forms  by  the  geological  specimen  case.  The  upper 
standards  followed,  occupying  the  centre,  headed  by  the  four 
illustrious  creatures  who  had  been  selected,  after  heart-break- 
ing failures,  to  support  the  solo  parts.  Boy  after  boy  had  been 
haled  to  the  piano  and  given  a  test-sheet  of  Tonic  Sol-fa  hier- 
oglyphics to  interpret.  Even  Hannibal  had  been  tried,  and  had 
excited  considerable  local  interest  by  being  unable  to  utter  a 
single  sound. 

"  Sing  Boh"  said  the  teacher,  and  struck  the  lower  C. 

Hannibal  opened  his  mouth,  but  without  result. 

"  Do  you  hear  me?     Sing  D  0  H!  " 

No  sound,  Hannibal  standing  strained  and  fish-like,  with  his 
mouth  open.  The  teacher  gave  him  a  shove,  the  head  master 
called  the  next  victim,  and  Hannibal  retired,  disgraced  and  ter- 
ribly relieved,  to  his  place.  That  was  a  month  ago,  and  the  daily 
practice  had  hammered  something  like  harmony  into  the  choruses, 
but  the  teachers  were  doubtless  correct  in  giving  themselves  an- 
other three  months  in  which  to  make  the  production  perfect. 

Music  is  an  art  so  generally  diffused,  so  catholic  in  intention, 
that  even  Board  School  boys  regard  musical  folk  without  much 
misgiving.  The  four  illustrious  creatures  who  sustained  the 
parts  of  the  Captain,  the  Mate,  and  the  two  passengers  en  route 
to  a  desert  island,  were  not,  so  it  happened,  clever-dicks.  They 
sang  naturally  well,  and  the  solicitude  of  the  teachers  drove  them 
to  still  higher  accomplishments.  But  the  great  thing  in  their 
favour  was  that,  willy-nilly,  their  performances  gave  pleasure. 
The  clever  boy  who  triumphed  in  German  or  Euclid,  the  egregious 
genius  who  had  whispered  "  Don't  shake "  that  afternoon,  or 
the  intellectual  freak  who  swept  the  board  at  essay  writing, — 
what  did  all  their  cleverness  amount  to?  Less  than  nothing. 
But  the  singers  gave  pleasure.  They  had  a  right  to  be  superior 
if  they  wanted  to.  To  a  certain  extent  the  rank  and  file  wouldn't 
have  minded  if  they  could  sing  too.  And  when  the  day  came, 
the  great  day  at  the  Assembly  Hall,  they  all  mustered  and 
joined  in  the  cheering  and  felt  very  proud  of  the  performers  in- 
deed. 

Hannibal  piped  away  all  right  in  unison  with  a  hundred  and 
fifty  other  voices,  and  amused  himself  by  singing  what  was 
known  as  "  alto."     Hannibal's  trouble  with  treble  was  that  every 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  91 

now  and  then  the  notes  soared  out  of  range.  If  he  descended 
an  octave  the  lower  notes  bumped  against  his  diaphragm.  The 
"  alto  "  which  lie  patronised  was  an  ingenious  method  of  bal- 
ancing the  harmony,  and  giving  body  to  the  volume  of  sound. 
Where  the  treble  note  was  high  Hannibal  sang  low,  where  the 
treble  descended  in  the  scale,  up  went  Hannibal  to  lah  and  tee, 
and  it  was  a  rigid  rule  that  if  you  sang  "  alto  "  you  had  to 
finish  on  a  rather  flat  fah  or  lah,  while  the  trebles  were  pinned 
quivering  on  their  final  doh.  The  effect  was  very  pleasing  to 
the  singer.  Strangely  enough  to  Hannibal,  the  head  master  and 
the  teacher  who  played  the  piano  made  periodical  raids  on  boys 
whom  they  suspected  of  this  apparently  harmless  practice.  In- 
deed, four  had  once  been  "  smelled  out "  and  placed  in  front  of 
a  blackboard  with  a  song  written  on  it,  and  they  had  been  com- 
pelled to  plough  right  through  it  again  and  again.  Which  made 
Hannibal  very  circumspect.  He  had  in  fact  perfected  a  habit  of 
moving  his  lips,  and  emitting  a  minimum  of  sound,  for  woe  be- 
tide you  if  they  caught  you  not  singing. 

This  afternoon  Hannibal  was  fortunate  in  having  an  end  seat 
close  to  the  bevelled  plate-glass  doors  of  a  geological  specimen 
case.  Away  on  his  left  across  the  room  the  sun  blazed  through 
yellow  blinds,  and  Hannibal,  leaning  back  in  his  seat  against 
the  desk  behind  (two  of  the  illustrious  ones  were  singing  a  duet), 
moved  his  head  to  and  fro  and  up  and  down  in  a  curious  way. 
This  is  one  of  the  points  where  Hannibal  slipped  off  the  smooth 
and  shining  platform  of  commonplace  accountability.  He  was 
imagining  a  vain  thing,  but  a  very  comical  one  in  his  opinion. 
By  moving  his  head  in  various  odd  ways,  he  made  the  distorted 
image  of  the  head  master  beating  time  take  on  a  multiplicity  of 
shapes  each  more  horrid  than  the  last.  There  he  was  in  that 
narrow  bevel  of  the  glass,  waving,  leaping,  swelling,  thinning, 
vanishing,  looming,  now  all  nose,  now  no  nose  at  all,  now  a  super- 
cilious, long-faced  saint,  now  a  squat  clawing  Quasimodo,  now  a 
pallid  angel  in  a  prismatic  fire-rimmed  heaven,  now  a  devil  in  a 
bright  blue  hell.     It  was  an  absorbing  game.  .  .  . 

In  the  tolemn  hours  of  duty 
Out  alone  upon  the  deep, 

sang  the  Mate  with  considerable  feeling,  seeing  he  was  only  thir- 
teen years  old,  and 


92  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

When  the  stars  show  forth  their  beauty, 
And  the  miyhty  world's  asleep! 

added  the  Skipper,  which  is  just  what  a  skipper  would  sing  to 
his  mate  on  a  fine  tropical  night.  And,  just  to  show  how  in- 
significant shipowners  and  underwriters  really  are,  the  two  gal- 
lant young  officers  carolled  together: 

Then  our  thouyhts  fly  swift  to  Enyland 

O'er  the  wide  blue  realms  of  space, 
In  some  corner  of  the  Homeland 

Find  a  welcome  res  tiny -place. 

And  the  ship  apparently  was  left  to  her  own  devices,  which  ac- 
counts for  the  collision  with  a  desert  island  and  the  ensuing 
second  Act. 

Hannibal,  engaged  in  the  quest  of  the  absolute  in  the  bev- 
elled edge  of  the  glass,  took  but  little  interest  in  the  duet.  Like 
the  others,  he  had  no  tradition  of  the  sea  in  his  family  to  in- 
duce any  interest  in  nautical  things.  Like  them  and  all  other 
Board  School  boys,  he  knew  no  English  history,  and  very  little 
geography. 

He  had  never  seen  the  sea. 

But  he  had  seen,  in  a  vague  and  desultory  way,  that  illimit- 
able ocean  of  unconscious  Being  in  which  he  and  all  things  else 
swam  with  half-blind  staring  eyes.  In  this  ocean  were  neither 
teachers  nor  boys,  neither  mother  nor  father  nor  brother  nor 
sister,  only  Shapes,  while  he  himself  moved  silently  among  them 
a  strained,  thinking  Eye.  His  voyages  in  this  mysterious  me- 
dium had  to  be  conducted  with  considerable  circumspection,  for 
the  people  in  the  Real  World,  the  active  and  articulate  pro- 
totypes of  those  same  Shapes,  were  "  dead  against  it."  His  fa- 
ther would  chuck  his  chin  sharply  if  he  found  him  sitting  in  a 
study,  and  the  pain  of  a  bitten  tongue,  Hannibal  found,  was 
agonising.  The  teachers,  arch  enemies  of  the  Ideal,  thwacked 
him  with  unresilient  pointers,  banged  him  with  fact-choked 
books,  and  Hannibal  would  awake,  sore  and  chagrined,  stranded 
on  the  stony  beach  of  the  Actual. 

But  since  the  rehearsal  of  the  operetta,  he  had  discovered  that 
by  the  aid  of  music  could  he  most  easily  slant  away  into  that  al- 
luring condition  which  I  have  tried  to  describe.  Probably  the 
identity  of  matter  and  form  in  music  served  as  a  sort  of  pier 
from  which  he  could  slip  without  effort  into  the  subconscious 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  93 

world.  I  don't  know.  The  psychology  of  reflective  children  is 
more  complicated,  I  believe,  than  it  appears. 

As  the  music  went  on,  as  the  duet  was  rehearsed  again  and 
again,  and  the  throats  of  the  illustrious  tenor  Mate  and  alto 
Skipper  grew  drier  and  drier,  Hannibal's  interest  in  the  gyrat- 
ing image  of  the  head  master  became  more  tenuous,  and  his 
mind  sank  deeper  and  deeper  into  its  trance.  He  found  him- 
self observing  with  a  detached  and  cynical  complacency  the 
movements  of  those  intimate  shapes,  his  Family.  They  swam  in 
and  out  of  his  visual  range,  his  mother  —  what  an  extraordinary 
creature  his  mother  was  down  here!  —  his  father  and  Bert 
and  Minnie.  Even  in  this  mysterious  region  of  silent  Shapes, 
Minnie  was  sedate  and  terrifying.  She  was  rising  all  the  time: 
each  time  Hannibal  winked  she  still  seemed  to  rise, '  a  pink 
shadow.  Bert  moved  also,  but  his  movements  were  spasmodic, 
like  a  wasp  on  the  *wing.  His  father  moved  from  time  to  time, 
turning  over  and  over  in  a  curiously  helpless  way,  yet  manag- 
ing to  avoid  his  wife,  who  was  continually  floating  towards  him. 
This  happened  so  often  that  Hannibal  grew  interested.  Why 
was  his  father  moving  like  that?  And  his  mother?  It  was  like 
trying  to  clutch  something  that  floated  immersed  in  water,  that 
movement  of  his  mother.  As  you  clutch,  the  thing  swims  away 
with  the  motion  of  your  hnnd.  So  moved  his  father,  clumsily 
and  without  poise,  a  volitionlcss  film. 

The  crash  of  the  final  chorus  failed  to  arouse  Hannibal  fully. 
The  entire  school  rose  to  its  feet  with  the  inevitable  scuffles  and 
kicks.     The  piano  thundered  the  prelude,  and  then. 

The  sea,  the  sea,  the  stately  sea 
The  sailor's  joy  will  ever  bee — eel 
The  sailor's  joy  will  ever  bee  —  eel 

Yet  the  boy  sat,  his  back  hard  against  the  desk  behind,  en- 
tranced. He  watched  the  Shape  of  his  mother  clutching,  he 
watched  the  elusive  thing  he  called  his  father  evade  and  yet  again 
evade  that  frantic  embrace,  and  then  —  vanish. 

With  three  quick  strides  the  head  master  was  at  his  side  and 
raining  down  blows  on  his  back,  and  he  sprang  up  amazed.  The 
chorus  swept  on  —  only  a  few  boys  could  see  what  all  the  trouble 
was  about.  The  head  master  pointed  to  the  open  space  by  the 
piano,  and  Hannibal  took  up  his  position  there. 

The  sea,  the  sea  .  .  .  the  stately  seal 
The  sailor's  joy  will  ev —  er  bee  —  eel 


94  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 


While  the  school  was  marching  out  squad  by  squad,  the  head 
master  conferred,  with  some  indignation,  with  the  teacher  who 
had  been  playing  the  piano  and  who  therefore  had  missed  the 
incident. 

"  Disgusting,  'pon  my  word !  —  Actually !  —  Asleep !  —  Public 
Spirit  —  wretched  little  shuffler !  "     And  so  on. 

Hannibal,  with  downcast  eyes,  remarked  that  he  was  not 
asleep. 

"  Oh,  indeed,  and  what  were  you  doing  then  ?  " 

"  Thinkin',  sir,"  he  replied,  and  the  collected  teachers  guf- 
fawed, looking  into  their  straw  hats  before  putting  them  on.  It 
was  a  joke. 

"  Go  on,  get  out  of  it,  you  shuffler !  "  And  Hannibal  was 
kicked  gently  out  of  the  way.  He  ran  down  the  stairs,  snatched 
his  cap  and  satchel  and  made  across  the  common  to  the  Obelisk. 

It  must  not  be  supposed  that  Hannibal,  ignorant  of  history 
and  geography,  had  no  knowledge  of  phenomena  at  all.  On  the 
contrary,  his  observation  lessons  had  included  birth,  death,  and 
corruption,  the  saving  of  life  and  the  planting  of  a  tree.  Yet 
so  chaotic  was  the  social  fabric  in  which  he  was  immeshed  that 
no  one  of  his  teachers  or  parents  considered  these  things  as  in 
any  way  important.  u  Half-sharp  "  the  cockatoo  voiced  Lanca- 
shire teacher  called  him,  "  balmy  little  hid  "  according  to  Bert. 
But  I  myself  am  of  a  different  opinion.  That  day  when  Hanni- 
bal stood  rapt  by  the  Obelisk  cattle  trough  and  watched  Ike 
McGillies,  the  black-haired  Irish  boy,  drown  a  starling,  counting 
the  bubbles  of  air  as  they  rose;  the  day  when  a  dozen  or  so  of 
them,  coming  through  the  fields  by  Palace  Gates  Station,  saw 
a  mare  in  the  throes  of  premature  delivery;  the  ghastly  discov- 
ery, in  a  ditch  by  Littler's  Pond,  of  a  maggoty  dog,  and  subse- 
quently the  skeleton;  the  gallant  theft  of  a  wee  black  kitten 
from  a  brutal  vendor  of  crockery;  the  transporting  of  a  horse- 
chestnut  just  bursting  into  life  from  a  dung-hill  to  the  back  gar- 
den : —  all  these  things  seem  to  me  of  importance  in  the  growth 
of  a  human  soul.  Life  and  death,  the  warm  fur  of  the  kitten 
against  his  check  and  the  clammy  horror  of  the  dead  terrier, 
these  things  little  Hannibal  had  known  even  then,  and  they 
seemed  to  him  to  have  some  relation  to  that  strange  mood  where 
swam  the  dim  shapes  of  people  and  things.  .  .  . 

And  yet  he  was  regarded  as  a  shuffler,  a  witless  incubus,  an  un- 
desirable, a  cypher. 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  95 

Clear  of  houses,  he  took  his  way  along  the  road  to  which 
Queen  Bess  and  her  Stile  gave  a  distinctive  name  in  the  days 
when  Verulamium  was  still  a  noble  patrimony.  Here  on  the  left 
the  boy  paused  by  an  old  farmhouse,  a  decrepit  building  half- 
hidden  by  untidy  trees,  and  flanked  by  ruined  sheds.  A  vestige 
of  the  rural  past,  it  stood  there  among  its  burning  heaps  of 
manure,  backed  by  a  great  railway,  fronted  by  a  macadamed 
road,  squeezed  in  between  a  brick-field  and  sewage  farm.  Han- 
nibal paused  on  his  homeward  way  to  peer  among  the  branches, 
—  the  house  always  seemed  dead,  save  for  noises  in  the  yard, 
and  a  rusty  harrow  by  the  gate  made  it  mournful.  Who  lived 
there?  Hannibal  had  been  born  and  brought  up  within  a  half- 
mile  of  it,  yet  he  knew  nothing  of  that  lonely  farmer.  Such 
was  the  spirit  of  the  place,  for  at  the  bottom  of  the  little  hill 
where  ran  a  brook,  the  brick  houses  began,  and  with  brick  houses 
the  instinct  of  Locality  becomes  atrophied.  In  self-defence  one 
is  not  too  curious  who  lives  next  door.  Hannibal  had  more 
than  once  been  surprised  to  find  the  house  next  or  next  but  one 
suddenly  empty  in  the  morning,  the  children  he  had  played  with 
vanished,  and  his  mother's  door  besieged  by  bilked  tradesmen 
with,  sometimes,  a  non-committal  policeman.  Only  Mrs.  Gay- 
nor  was  always  there,  observant  at  the  window,  smiling. 

The  sight  of  a  policeman  holding  the  Inspector's  horse  out- 
side the  red-brick  station  induced  a  fresh  line  of  thought  in  Han- 
nibal's mind.  Why  did  they  wear  blue?  Soldiers  wore  red  in 
those  days.  Red,  white,  and  blue,  eh?  Who  ought  to  wear 
white?     Angels,  perhaps? 

Balmy  little  kid ! 


XVI 

OF  Mr.  Gooderich  himself,  a  word  or  two  here  will  in  no 
wise  be  amiss.  He  was  a  tradesman,  which  to  the  initi- 
ated means  a  man  who  has  served  an  apprenticeship 
to  a  trade.  His  skill  in  that  trade  was  very  moderate. 
He  had  a  slow  methodical  manner,  he  was  careful  and  con- 
scientious, and  thereby  gained  a  surer  reputation  than  was 
enjoyed  my  men  of  greater  skill  and  energy.  This  manner  was 
the  outcome  of  his  view  of  life.  He  was  a  conservative  working- 
man.  He  was  a  faithful  and  reliable  member  of  the  "  Mais/' 
which  is  the  Amalgamated  Society  of  Engineers,  and  he  set 
his  face  like  flint  against  the  slightest  broadening  of  its  basis 
or  the  most  trifling  extension  of  its  powers.  He  was  interested 
in  racing  and,  as  football  grew  into  the  national  life,  he,  like 
many  Conservatives,  bought  the  Morning  Leader  (only  they 
called  it  differently)  for  that  journal's  excellent  reports  of  the 
game.  But  I  doubt  if  he  ever  read  the  political  articles.  His 
conservatism  was  not  of  that  sort.  It  was  fixed,  steadfast, 
founded  on  a  rock,  the  rock  of  obstinacy.  He  saw  things  hap- 
pening, yet  he  lacked  intelligence  to  infer  the  inevitable  results. 
Like  the  pike  in  the  aquarium,  he  struck  his  head  again  and 
again  against  the  invisible  sheet  of  glass,  yet  never  connected  the 
glass  and  the  blow  in  thought.  No,  his  conservatism  needed 
more  than  a  leading  article  to  pierce  it.  "  Radical  Fudge  "  was 
his  placid  comment  on  views  more  porous  and  ductile  than  his 
own.  I  think  "  the  Empire  "  made  him  feel  at  times,  because 
he  once  talked  of  "  goin'  out "  to  the  Colonies.  But  the  thought 
of  "  Or  Inglan'  "  which  is  the  obverse  of  the  Imperial  medal, 
held  him  to  his  vice  at  McMuirland's  and  the  book-maker  at  the 
corner  of  Red-cross  Street. 

He  was  temperate,  kindly  in  a  fatuous  way  to  his  children, 
just  to  his  wife  while  in  employ,  truthful  in  an  unintelligent 
fashion,  yet  with  all  this  he  gave  me  an  impression  of  despair. 
He  could  not  move  with  the  times.  He  presented  a  spectacle, 
even  in  his  early  married  days,  of  inarticulate  protest  against 
a  world  that  was  moving,  in  spite  of  him,  from  vestries  to 
municipalities,  from  private  firms  to  syndicates,  from  thousands 

96 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  97 

to  millions,  from  muddlers  to  men.  He  attributed  all  the  fail- 
ures of  the  "  Mais  "  to  their  lack  of  trust  in  the  masters.  He 
loved  dogs,  and  he  had  much  of  the  faithful  dog's  nature.  He 
would  lick  the  hand  that  smote  him.  He  was  an  improver  when 
the  men  "  went  out "  in  the  Ferry  Road,  and  he  made  the  one 
passionate  exhibition  of  his  life  when  he  rose  amid  cheers  and 
jeers  to  denounce  the  calling  out  of  the  apprentices  who  had 
taken  the  men's  places  in  the  yard,  and  so  had  defeated  the 
very  end  for  which  he  fought.  It  was  brutal  and  cruel,  he 
shouted,  to  spoil  those  lads'  career  in  a  grown-man's  quarrel. 
And  you  couldn't  make  him  see  his  folly.  He  was  Pym,  Hamp- 
den, Hasclrig,  Hollis,  and  Strode  all  rolled  into  one  that  freez- 
ing, frenzied  afternoon.  And  when  he  had  carried  the  day,  he 
went  back  to  his  obscurity  and  never  again  emerged.  A  rather 
cantankerous  man,  if  you  were  a  person  with  growing  pains  in 
your  head. 

He  remained  year  after  year  at  the  bench,  while  younger 
men  raced  past  him,  perfectly  content  in  the  sphere  in  which 
it  had  pleased  God  to  put  him.  He  believed  in  God  just  as  he 
had  his  superstitions  about  the  ace,  number  seventeen,  and  the 
power  of  Tottenham  Hotspurs  to  lift  the  Cup.  He  was  one 
of  those  men  who  would  have  made  admirable  conservative 
licenced  victuallers,  if  the  God  they  respect  so  highly  had 
bestowed  a  small  capital  upon  them.  I  can  see  him,  comfort- 
ably established  at  Wejrmouth,  or  Somewhcre-on-Sca,  owning  one 
or  two  blocks  of  slum  property  off  Jubilee  Street  (the  tenants 
hailing  from  Lithuania,  Courland,  and  Esthonia),  reading  the 
Daily  Telegraph,  temperately  zealous  in  charitable  affairs,  yet 
fearful  of  pauperising,"  which  he  understood  to  be  the  mean- 
ing of  *  panem  et  circenses"  an  increasingly  portly  patriot, 
recommending  young  men  to  join  the  army  or  "  go  out  "  to  South 
Africa,  a  prosperous  and  valuable  burgess.  Now  and  again,  I 
imagine,  he  himself  had  had  a  glimpse  of  this  Arcady,  this  tavern 
by  the  sea  (forty  minutes  from  London,  frequent  trains),  and 
had  made  furtive  efforts  to  acquire  a  certain  capital.  He  cer- 
tainly lost  a  considerable  sum  on  the  favourite,  that  terrible  year 
when  Jeddah  won  the  Derby.  He  was  at  his  bench,  as  usual, 
when  old  Hack,  who  had  been  using  his  privilege  as  messenger 
to  converse  with  the  paper-man  at  the  corner  of  Goswell  Road, 
sidled  past  him  and  murmured  "  Suffcrin'  Moses!  A  renk  aht- 
sider,  Jack.     Jeddcr  —  never  'eard  o'  the  'orse  afore !  "     Good- 


98  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

erich  hung  his  head  over  his  job.  And  his  wife  was  pinched  for 
some  weeks  for  money. 

At  another  time,  heated  to  a  dull  glow  by  stories  circu- 
lating in  the  shops  concerning  the  possibilities  of  building  soci- 
eties, and  the  phenomenal  success  of  a  former  shopmate,  he  had 
formed  a  resolution  to  save.  Even  his  wife  had  grown  a  little 
excited  about  it,  'Erbcrt  being  about  to  save;  and  had  been 
damped  by  the  American  woman's  remark,  "  Before  you  can 
save,  you  must  have  something  to  save."  They  found  that 
remark  true  enough,  and  'Erbert  resumed  losing  half  a  dollar  on 
a  horse  every  Saturday,  and  applauding  the  'Spurs  when  they 
pushed  a  football  through  the  thorax  of  every  other  team  in  the 
Southern  League.  And  then  a  penny- weekly  offered  five  hundred 
a  year  and  a  freehold  cottage  to  the  person  who  could  win  a  word- 
competition,  and  the  first  instalment  seemed  so  easy  that  the 
sky  was  rosy  with  hope  and  the  'Spurs  retreated  to  the  back- 
ground for  a  while.  But  they  were  soon  back  again,  and  the 
prize  went  to  some  one  in  Van  Diemen's  Land.  .  .  . 

And  in  the  meantime,  while  he  was  busy  with  these  fiddling 
things,  the  world  moved  on.  Little  by  little  the  work  on  which 
he  had  spent  his  time  was  transferred  to  automatic  machines 
made  in  Germany  and  America,  great  technological  institutions 
arose  in  the  Metropolis  from  whose  doors  poured  every  year 
swarms  of  young  men  pale  from  night-study,  qualified  to  deal 
with  the  newer  methods  and  later  mechanism.  Everywhere  was 
being  preached  the  gospel  of  Efficiency.  New  managers  erected 
glass  observation  boxes  in  the  very  shop  where  he  worked,  handed 
him  explanatory  literature  anent  new  systems  of  working, 
whereby  he  might  earn  more  money.  But  Gooderich  never  earned 
more  money,  rather  less,  for  the  new  system  expected  quicker 
work,  quicker  calculations  of  time  taken  and  fractions  of  pence. 
He  resented  the  new-fangled  time-keeping.  He  resented  every- 
thing new.  Everywhere  now  were  young  men.  "  Too  old  at 
forty  "  began  to  reverberate  in  the  Press.  Gooderich  was  startled, 
looked  at  himself  in  the  glass.  Something  must  be  done.  He 
must  make  a  definite  effort  to  get  out  of  the  rut.  Things  could 
not  go  on  like  this.     For  awhile  there  was  another  dull  glow. 

The  next  day  he  had  purchased  a  bottle  of  hair-dye. 

Mr.  Gooderich  was  at  home  when  his  daughter  entered  and 
hung  up  her  hat  and  jacket.  He  stood  in  his  shirt-sleeves  by 
the  mantelpiece  of  the   front  room  filling  his  pouch   from  the 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  99 

shag-box.  His  head  was  turned  over  his  right  shoulder  in  the 
direction  of  his  wife.  They  had  been  discussing  her,  apparently. 
Mr.  Gooderich  was  saying  dogmatically: 

"  Give  'er  'cr  'ead  and  she'll  soon  get  winded."  Minnie  set 
her  face  in  a  mask  and  entered  the  room,  eyes  downcast,  one 
hand  patting  her  hair  as  though  she  had  been  away  but  a  few 
moments. 

"  'Ullo !  "  said  her  father,  screwing  his  head  a  little  farther 
round.     "Got  the  bag,  I   'ear?" 

"  Yes,  and  got  another  job,"  she  replied  quietly,  taking  a 
needle  and  thread  from  a  cigar-box  on  the  sidetable.  Her  mother 
looked  up  quickly  and  watched  her  repairing  a  small  rent  in  her 
skirt. 

"Really?" 

"  Really,  all  right." 

"What  sort  o'  job?"  asked  her  father  suspiciously. 

It  is  one  of  the  characteristics  of  these  people  to  doubt  every 
word  you  say. 

"  Shorthand." 

"In  the  City?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Didn't  know  you  could  write  it." 

"  I  shouldn't  like  to  make  a  list  of  all  the  things  you  don't 
know  about  me,  father,"  she  answered,  bending  all  her  atten- 
tion to  the  repair  of  the  rent.  Mr.  Gooderich  regarded  the 
top  of  his  daughter's  head.  Mrs.  Gooderich  lifted  her  hand 
in  alarm. 

"Oh,"  he  remarked  at  length.     "And  whose  fault  is  that?" 

"  Yours,  I  should  think.     You  never  ask." 

"If  that's  the  way  you  talk  to  your  boss,  I  don't  wonder 
you  got  the  bag.  Course,  I'm  only  your  father,  so  I  s'pose  it 
don't  matter.  So  long's  you  keep  yourself,  you  can  please  your- 
self."    He  turned  to  get  his  coat. 

"  That's  all  right,"  said  Minnie,  though  whether  she  referred 
to  the  rent  or  her  father's  words  nobody  ever  knew.  She  put 
the  needle  and  thread  away  and  went  out  of  the  room.  She 
heard  her  father  in  the  hall,  the  striking  of  the  match,  the 
sound  of  her  mother's  voice,  too  low  to  distinguish.  And  then 
her  father. 

"  Not  me!  You  brought  'er  up,  didn't  you?  Well  then,  bring 
her  down.     She  flics  too  'igh  for  me.     She's  yours." 


100  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

And  he  went  out  and  shut  the  door  behind  him.  Minnie 
heard  her  mother  mounting  the  stairs. 

"  You  mustn't  mind  your  father,  child,  he's  worried  to  death," 
began  Mrs.  Gooderich.     "  He  don't  mean  'alf  he  says." 

"  He  means  very  little  then,"  commented  Minnie.  "  What's 
he  worried  about  ?  " 

"  His  job.  He's  had  several  short  weeks,  and  there's  no  new 
engines  layin'  down,  he  says,  and  thinks  they  may  pay  him 
off." 

"  Well,  there's  other  shops." 

"  Jobs  aren't  so  easy  got,  after  you're  fifty,"  replied  her 
mother.     "What's  this  job  you've  got?" 

"  A  lady  author  wants  an  assistant,  or  something  like  that. 
Don't  ask  me  whether  it'll  be  any  good.  I'm  not  sure  myself 
yet.     I'll  try  it  and  see." 

"  Well,  that's  a  nice  way  to  talk.     What's  the  wages?  " 

"  Twelve,  same  as  before.  I  beat  her  up  to  that  anyway. 
Trust  me,  mother.     Your  own  little  girlie  can  look  after  herself." 

Mrs.  Gooderich  looked  distressed. 

"  Where're  you  goin'?"  she  asked,  for  Minnie  was  arranging 
her  hair  after  a  wash. 

"  Mrs.  Gaynor's.  She  put  me  on  to  this  job,  so  I  must  run 
in  and  tell  her  about  it.     Shan't  be  long." 

Going  downstairs  in  the  dark  Minnie  almost  fell  over  some 
obstacle  on  the  bottom  step. 

"What's  that?     What 'you  doing  there,  Hanny?" 

"  Nothin'." 

Minnie  fetched  some  matches  and  lit  the  hall  lamp.  Hannibal, 
seated  on  the  stair,  was  tying  a  piece  of  twine  round  the  neck 
of  a  jam-pot;  a  piece  of  bamboo  lay  beside  him. 

"  Fishin'  ?  "  Minnie  was  in  a  good  humour. 

"  Um,"  responded  the  boy. 

"  A  lot  you  catch !  "  observed  his  sister,  and  went  out  into  the 
dusk.     Hannibal  made  a  face. 

The  string  adjusted,  he  scrambled  to  his  feet,  grabbed  his 
rod  and  followed  her  through  the  door.  His  mother,  close 
behind,  watched  him  scuttling  away  down  the  road  into  the 
obscurity  of  Walker's  Woods.  Mrs.  Gooderich  sighed.  Do  her 
duty  as  she  might,  she  seemed  unable  to  hold  either  the  fear  or 
the  affection  of  her  children.     They  just  took  no  notice.     There 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  101 

was  Minnie  now,  away  chatting  with  a  neighbour  instead  of  con- 
fiding in  her  own  mother. 

Mrs.  Gooderich  stood  at  the  gate  for  a  few  minutes  in  deep 
thought,  and  then  decided  to  "  run  in  "  herself  to  Mrs.  Gaynor's 
and  assist  in  the  discussion !  Closing  the  door  gently  until  it  was 
almost  latched,  she  went  along  to  the  next  house  but  one,  and 
immediately  beheld  her  daughter  and  Mrs.  Gaynor  sitting  in  the 
uncurtained  room,  their  faces  illumined  by  a  gas-jet  with  an  opal 
globe.  Gas-stoves  had  come  in  then,  but  the  incandescent  mantle 
lav  in  the  future.  And  this  clear  and  distinct  scene,  visible  to  all 
who  went  along  Maple  Avenue,  disturbed  Mrs.  Gooderich  very 
much.  She  had  an  instinctive  horror  of  this  sort  of  publicity. 
No  matter  how  torrid  the  weather,  Mrs.  Gooderich  would  not 
drink  even  a  cup  of  tea  in  her  back  garden, —  the  neighbours 
might  see.  As  for  taking  a  chair  and  sitting  in  the  front  room 
with  no  curtains  and  a  blazing  light,  it  was  "  strange,"  and  she 
had  spent  a  good  part  of  her  intellectual  existence  and  energy 
in  avoiding  anything  strange. 

So  she  hurried  up  Mrs.  Gaynor's  tiled  path  as  quickly  as  she 
could  and  tapped  at  the  door.  And  immediately  Mrs.  Gaynor, 
aproned  and  hospitable,  stood  before  her. 

"Well,  now,  if  that  isn't  just  what  I  was  wishing!  Come 
right  in,  Mrs.  Gooderieh.  We're  having  a  nice  quiet  discussion." 
She  stooped  and  straightened  a  corner  of  the  cocoanut  matting  in 
the  "  hall-way,"  "  so  bare  you  wouldn't  believe,"  Mrs.  Gooderich 
was  wont  to  comment  of  it.  They  went  in,  and  to  her  mother's 
surprise,  Minnie  did  not  scowl  at  the  sight  of  her.  Mrs.  Gaynor 
seemed  to  have  the  faculty  of  erasing  scowls  from  people's  faces. 

The  room,  certainly  in  a  suburban  view,  was  scantily  furnished. 
The  "  mantel  "  as  its  owner  called  it,  carried  nothing  but  a  plain 
black  marble  clock,  the  walls  were  hung  with  two  or  three  incon- 
spicuous engravings.  There  was  a  sideboard,  or  in  Mrs.  Good- 
erieh's  terminology,  a  chiffonier  with  the  accent  on  the  last  syl- 
lable, a  small  table  supported  a  small  case  of  books,  a  table  and 
four  rush-bottomed  chairs,  on  one  of  which  Minnie  was  seated. 
Mrs.  Gaynor  herself  had  been  sitting  in  a  deep  rocking-chair, 
almost  a  curiosity  in  England  in  those  days.  She  offered  this  to 
Mrs.  Gooderich,  but  it  was  too  strange  for  her,  she  preferred 
something  with  four  legs.  As  she  sat  down  and  folded  her  hands, 
she  caught  sight  of  little  Hiram  Gaynor  seated  on  a  "  hassock  " 


102  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

by  the  window  reading  a  book.  The  boy  looked  up  and  smiled, 
and  Mrs.  Gooderich  regarded  him  with  renewed  perplexity.  He 
was  wearing  a  blue  jersey  which  came  up  close  round  his  neck, 
and  his  round,  healthy  little  face  was  crowned  with  a  shock  of 
tangled  hair  that  seemed  never  to  be  combed.  His  knicker- 
bockers were  open  at  the  knee,  a  style  old-fashioned  even  then, 
for  straps  and  box-cloth  finishings  were  in  high  favour  for  boys' 
clothes.  But  Mrs.  Gaynor  did  not  believe  in  putting  a  child  into 
plate-armour,  and  made  Hiram's  knickerbockers  herself  out  of 
navy  serge. 

Mrs.  Gooderich  returned  his  smile,  and  asked  him  what  he 
was  reading.     He  said  it  was  a  book. 

"  I'm  sure  I  wish  my  Hanny  'ud  sit  down  with  a  book  in  the 
evening.  He  just  runs  wild.  Gone  fishin'  now."  Hiram's  book 
closed,  and  he  favoured  Mrs.  Gooderich  with  a  gaze  of  intense 
interest. 

"  Is  that  so?  "  he  asked.     "  Ma,  can  I  go  fishin'?  " 

"  Oh,  I  s'pose  you  can,  child.  I  don't  reckon  you'll  do  the 
fish  much  damage,  anyway." 

"  Where's  he  gone,  Mrs.  Gooderich  ?     Littler's  ?  " 

"  I  expect  so.  Down  the  Bowes  Road,  anyhow.  But  I  won- 
der you  allow  it,  Mrs.  Gaynor.     They  only  spoil  their  clothes." 

"  He's  none  to  spoil,"  smiled  that  lady,  reseating  herself  in 
the  rocking-chair. 

It  seemed  strange  to  Mrs.  Gooderich,  allowing  a  child  to  do 
what  he  wanted.     She  didn't  approve  of  such  laxity. 

"  Be  in  by  eleven,  child." 

"  Sure,  Ma."     And  the  model  child  vanished. 

"Well,  what  d'you  think  of, this  young  woman  now,  Mrs. 
Gooderich?"  asked  Mrs.  Gaynor.  "She's  got  a  position  quick 
enough." 

"  I  can't  think  how  you're  goin'  to  keep  yourself  and  dress 
yourself  and  pay  rail-fare,  all  on  twelve  shillings  a  week?  "  Mrs. 
Gooderich  replied,  looking  at  her  daughter. 

"  To  start,"  said  Minnie.  "  I  was  just  tellin',  Mrs.  Gaynor 
thought,  that  Mrs.  Wilfley  wants  me  to  live  in,  and  she  recom- 
mends it." 

"  Live  in,"  said  her  mother  blankly.  Living  in  was  associated 
in  her  mind  with  drapery  emporiums,  celibacy,  and  ultimate 
disaster. 

"  Mrs.  Wilfley  doesn't  keep  a  dry  goods  store,"  Mrs.  Gaynor 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  103 

volunteered.  "  What  she  wants  is  a  companion,  I  s'pose  you'd 
call  it,  some  one  to  live  with  her  and  do  little  chores  in  connec- 
tion with  her  profession." 

"  Chores  ?  "  This  again  was  an  unfortunate  word,  a  strange 
word,  a  vague  alarming  word. 

"  An  assistant,  mother,"  added  Minnie  impatiently.  "  What 
I  want  is  a  chance.  If  I  don't  get  on  with  Mrs.  Wilfley,  I'll 
get  out,  but  anyhow  I'll  have  a  chance  to  look  round  and  p'raps 
see  some  other  job  with  better  pay.  And  I  can't  expect  a  big 
screw  until  I've  learned  the  business,  can  I?  " 

"  No,  I  s'pose  not.     I  do  hope  it'll  be  all  right." 

"  It  will  be  all  right,"  asserted  the  lady  in  the  rocking-chair. 
"  Mrs.  Worrall  is  very  successful  in  satisfying  her  clients." 

"  Why,  from  what  she  said,  I  thought  she'd  have  a  job  too, 
sometimes,"  remarked  Minnie. 

"  What  was  that  ?  " 

"  She  said  her  clients  wanted  their  servants  to  come  from 
the  aristocracy,  and  as  for  companions,  she  said  they  had  to 
belong  to  the  aristocracy.     I  suppose  she  meant  poor  relations." 

"  She  was  talking  sarcastic.  If  she  recommends  a  young 
woman,  even  if  she  hasn't  any  experience,  Mrs.  Worrall  can 
place  her  in  good  positions.  But  she  would  not  recommend  you, 
because  I  told  her  something  of  your  character  in  my  letter." 

"Why,   did   you   tell   her ?"   began    Mrs.   Gooderieh   in 

dismay.  A  recital  of  Minnie's  recent  behaviour  was  tanta- 
mount, in  her  mother's  opinion,  to  a  bad  character. 

"  The  truth,"  said  Mrs.  Gaynor  simply.  "  But  in  a  general 
way.     No  details.     I  didn't  know  them." 

"Did  you  tell  her  I  was  strong-minded?"  asked  the  girl 
maliciously. 

"  Surely.  That  was  most  important.  If  you  like  you  can 
read  the  letter.     I  always  copy  my  letters." 

Singular  spectacle!     A  widow  with  business  habits! 

Mrs.  Gaynor  rose  and  went  to  a  drawer  in  the  sidetable  and 
took  out  a  thick  letter  book.  Placing  a  sheet  of  white  paper 
under  the  last  letter  but  one  she  handed  it  to  Mrs.  Gooderieh. 

Minnie  leaned  over. 

This  was  the  letter. 


104  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

10,  Maple  Avenue, 

New  Southgate,  N. 

Dear  Olivia  Worrall, 

The  young  woman  who  bears  this  letter  to  you  is  a  char- 
acter. She  has,  I  do  believe,  missed  her  vocation.  She  works  in 
a  factory.  She  ought  to  have  gone  to  college  and  entered  a  pro- 
fession, but  in  this  benighted  country  a  woman  doesn't  even  know 
what  a  college  education  means. 

Where  could  she  get  instruction? 

She  has  a  mighty  lot  to  learn,  I'm  aware,  and  learn  it  she  will, 
if  she  gets  a  chance.  But  we  mustn't  expect  gratitude  for  helping 
her.  She's  a  cast-iron  image  as  far  as  other  folks  are  concerned, 
though  influenced  easily  enough  in  the  right  way.  Most  girls 
think  they  know  txvice  as  much  as  their  mother:  this  young 
xvoman  thinks  she  knows  twenty  times  as  much. 

Sometimes  you'd  almost  believe  she  did! 

Tier  young  man  worried  her  to  death  because  he  thought  she 
smoked.  She  just  chased  him  out  of  the  district  so  he'll  never 
come  back.  Her  employers  gave  her  notice  last  week,  and  here 
she  is  planning  another  scheme  for  raising  money. 

She's  a  problem,  isn't  she,  now? 

It  wouldn't  do  any  real  harm  to  recommend  her  for  a  rich 
woman's  companion,  though  it  might  ruin  your  business.  The 
rich  woma?i  and  the  young  one  would  be  the  better  for  it.  But  I 
don't  suppose  you're  so  rich  you  xvant  to  offend  anybody  yet,  so 
you'll  just  have  to  use  your  judgment. 

Perhaps  you'll  rouse  up  and  tell  me  how  you're  getting  on.  I 
had  a  newspaper  from  Alvard  the  other  day  —  he's  still  in  St. 
Louis  —  and  there  is  a  paragraph  in  it  saying  Adelaide  is  in 
charge  of  the  City  Hospital  for  Children. 

That  girl's  a  real  credit  to  her  country. 

Your  old  friend, 

Ann  Butterick  Gay  nor. 

Mrs.  Gooderich  looked  at  Minnie,  and  Minnie  looked  at  Mrs. 
Gooderich.  And  then  they  both  looked  at  Mrs.  Gaynor,  who  was 
looking  out  into  the  summer  night. 

"  Well,"  she  said,  without  changing  her  position.  "  Don't  you 
like  that  letter?" 

"  It's  a  funny  character  you've  given  me,  Mrs.  Gaynor,"  said 
Minnie. 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  105 

"  Mrs.  Worrall's  a  very  smart  woman.  I  giiess  she  took  a 
pretty  complete  inventory  of  you  while  she  was  talking  to  you." 

"  It's  a  wonder  she  didn't  send  you  packin',"  said  Mrs.  Good- 
erich, putting  the  letter-book  on  the  table.  "  I  only  hope  it'll 
turn  out  all  right." 

"  Oh,  it  will,  sure." 

Mother  and  daughter  rose. 

"  She'll  want  some  clothes,"  said  Mrs.  Gooderich. 

"  Let  her  earn  them,"  said  Mrs.  Gaynor,  going  over  to  a  shelf 
in  the  corner  and  taking  a  spirit-lamp  from  a  shelf.  "  Sit  right 
down  now  and  I'll  make  some  beef-tea." 

By  beef-tea  Mrs.  Gaynor  meant  beef-extract  as  made  by  Liebig. 
In  a  few  minutes  a  copper  kettle  was  on  the  boil,  three  large  cups 
received  their  modicum  of  the  dark,  sickly-smelling  compound 
and  the  needful  boiling  water. 

"  I  like  this,"  said  Minnie,  taking  her  cup.  Mrs.  Gooderich 
liked  it  too,  but  she  did  not  say  so.  Her  breakfast  had  been 
liver  and  bacon  and  tea,  her  dinner  stewed  kidneys,  her  tea 
bread  and  butter  and  cheap  jam  made  of  turnips  and  animal 
jelly,  and  so,  according  to  Mrs.  Gaynor 's  peculiar  view,  the 
poor  woman  had  had  nothing  to  eat  all  day.  Both  mother  and 
daughter  were  the  better  for  the  concentrated  nourishment  in 
the  extract,  and  the  dry  biscuit,  to  their  astonishment,  was 
delicious. 

They  began  to  talk  afresh,  discussing  the  situation  in  all  its 
bearings.  Then  they  went  on  to  Bert's  prospects,  Bert  who  was 
scarcely  ever  at  home,  who  was  walking  out  with  a  girl  now,  but 
who  was  more  set  than  ever  on  joining  the  Army.  Who  was 
the  girl?  Mrs.  Gaynor  enquired,  and  Mrs.  Gooderich  had  to 
confess  that  Bert  was  inclined  to  be  "  light."  It  had  been  Ethel 
Turner,  big,  hoydenish  Ethel  Turner,  of  whom  Mrs.  Gooderich 
did  not  approve.  But  occasionally  other  flames  illuminated  the 
dark  and  taciturn  soul  of  her  elder  son.  Mrs.  Gooderich  was 
not  hopeful  about  him.  She  didn't  want  him  to  go  for  a  soldier, 
but  lie  had  small  prospects  at  the  furniture  shop.  He  was  going 
on  sixteen  now  and  he  ought  to  be  settled  to  something.  But  he 
would  talk  of  nothing  but  the  Army,  and  his  father  "  encouraged  " 
him.  As  if  a  boy  had  any  prospects  in  the  Army!  Mention  of 
her  husband  led  Mrs.  Gooderich  to  talk  of  his  despondent  mood 
caused  by  so  many  short  weeks.  Money  got  very  tight  when  a 
man  drew  so  little.     Trade  was  slack,  very.     There  had  been 


106  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

rumours  of  a  big  job  from  the  Government,  but  a  North-East 
Coast  firm  had  got  it.  Mr.  Gooderich  had  dropped  the  idea  of 
emigrating,  but  he  seemed  to  fancy  work  was  more  plentiful  up 
Tyneside  way.  She  didn't  want  to  go  away.  She  had  got  used 
to  London.  But  what  was  the  use  ?  —  they  couldn't  live  on 
air. 

Mrs.  Gaynor  just  let  her  talk,  and  the  woman's  mind  was 
eased  of  its  load.  That  Mrs.  Gaynor  had  any  troubles  of  her 
own  never  entered  either  of  her  visitor's  heads.  Why,  she 
owned  her  house,  freehold;  people  said  she  had  "  property,"  mort- 
gages, shares,  and  such-like  mysterious  tokens.  How  could  she 
have  any  troubles.  Even  Mary  Gooderich,  simple  and  warped 
of  mind  as  she  was,  felt  that  the  "  bareness  "  of  Mrs.  Gaynor's 
menage  was  due  to  her  peculiar  American  ideas  and  not  to  pov- 
erty. And  Minnie,  whose  intellect  was  fifty  times  keener  than 
her  mother's,  knew  that  this  quiet  lady  was  right,  and  their  own 
way  of  existence  was  disastrously  wrong.  How  to  change  it? 
Well,  thought  the  girl,  there  was  Mrs.  Wilfley  for  a  start.  Her 
mother  had  no  such  ray  of  hope.  She  looked  down  at  the  green 
rugs  on  the  linoleum  wood-block  flooring,  which  was  bees-waxed 
until  it  shone,  and  felt  nothing  beyond  the  relief  of  having  a  soul 
to  speak  to  who  seemed  to  understand  her  troubles.  So  she 
talked,  and  Minnie  interpolated  now  and  then,  and  Mrs.  Gaynor 
listened  with  nods  of  comprehension,  and  they  felt  their  excite- 
ment calmed  and  the  future  less  vague. 

These  two  spirits,  so  temperamentally  different,  the  one  puz- 
zled and  wayworn,  the  other  aggressively  and  indomitably  young, 
became  permeated  by  the  mysterious  quality  of  silent  human  sym- 
pathy, as,  slowly  but  surely,  it  exercised  its  sublime  yet  invisible 
functions. 

"  Good  gracious  me !  Mrs.  Gaynor,  it's  nearly  eleven  o'clock. 
Come  on,  Minnie." 

"  Well,  I'm  very  glad  you  came  in,  Mrs.  Gooderich.  It  does 
me  good  to  talk  about  one's  troubles.     I  know  that." 

"  Yes,  I  s'pose  you've  had  troubles  like  the  rest  of  us.  Who's 
that  comin'  in  the  gate?  I  believe  it's  your  little  boy.  He  is  a 
good  child.     Back  before  eleven." 

They  filed  out  into  the  hall,  where  a  single  gas  jet  burned 
low,  by  the  "  hall  stand."     The  door  was  open,  and  Hiram  sprang 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  10* 

across  the  mat  and  caught  hold  of  his  mother  as  she  was  turning 
out  the  light. 

"  Sakes,  child,  what  is  it  now  ?  " 

"Oh,  Ma!"  the  boy  ejaculated,  and  looked  at  Mrs.  Goode- 
rich  as  though  numbed. 

"  What  —  anything  happened  to  Hanny?  "  wailed  Mrs.  Goode- 
rich,  and  Minnie  looked  sternly  at  the  little  jerseyed  figure  with 
the  tumbled  hair. 

"  Eh  ?  "  asked  his  mother. 

"  No,  Hanny  —  he's  all  right  'nuff .  He's  down  —  down  there 
now.     He's  cryin',  he  is." 

"  What  ails  you,  Hiram?     What's  he  crying  for?  " 

"  There's  —  there's  a  man  in  the  brook,"  stuttered  the  boy, 
looking  earnestly  at  his  mother.     "I  —  I  reckon  he's  dead,  I  do." 

"  Oh !  "  said  Minnie,  and  Mrs.  Gooderich  moaned. 

"  Are  you  sure,  Hiram  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Gaynor. 

"  Ask  Hanny.     He's  there  now  —  in  the  dark  —  cryin'." 

"  Mrs.  Gooderich,"  said  Mrs.  Gaynor,  "  let  Minnie  go  to  the 
police  office  with  Hiram  and  we'll  go  on  down  the  road.  I 
thought  you  were  going  to  Littler's,"  she  added,  to  Hiram. 

"  So  we  did.  We  were  comin'  back  by  Old  Southgate  to  hear 
the  bells.     We  caught  three  fish,  we  did." 

"  There,  go  on  now,  and  we'll  put  on  our  bonnets." 

"Come  on,  Hiram,"  said  Minnie,  in  a  low,  cold  voice;  "take 
my  hand."  They  went  out  and  across  the  road  where  a  row  of 
lime-trees  bordered  the  half  side-walk,  and  made  it  dark  as  a 
tunnel.  The  moon  had  risen,  and  the  road  was  a  broad  highway 
of  silver. 

"  Couldn't  you  see  who  it  was,  Hiram  ?  "  asked  Minnie,  in  the 
same  low  voice.     "Couldn't  you  see?" 

"  Yes,"  choked  Hiram,  nearly  strangled  by  excitement,  run- 
ning, and  possibly  fear. 

"Who  was  it,  then?" 

"  Your  pa,"  replied  Hiram. 

At  the  time  of  this  narrative,  the  Apple-tree  Inn,  situated  on 
the  northern  side  of  Southgate  Green,  was  an  almost  unique 
example  of  the  old-style  tavern:  unique,  that  is,  in  Middlesex. 
For  even  then  the  craze  for  rebuilding  had  seized  the  breweries, 
even  then  comfortable  old  bar-parlours  were  being  swept  away 


108  CASlTALS  OF  THE  SEA 

and  horrid  new  high-ceilinged  edifices  were  taking  their  place. 
But  the  "  Apple,"  being  off  the  great  highways  out  of  London, 
and  situated  some  two  miles  from  a  railway  station,  stood  immune, 
and,  as  one  crossed  the  green,  the  deep  ruhy  red  of  the  parlour 
curtains,  the  tall  sign  swinging  on  a  pole  across  the  road,  the  big 
roomy  stables  and  old  wooden  horse-trough,  made  up  a  picture 
comforting  to  man  and  beast,  and  was  amply  corroborated  by 
the  hospitality  dispensed  within.  Certainly  a  sane  and  kindly 
hand  had  been  laid  upon  the  house:  witness  the  snug  billiard- 
room  at  the  back  and  the  domestic  jug-cubicle  next  the  stables. 
But  the  very  heart  and  soul  of  an  inn,  the  fountain  of  its  per- 
manence and  prosperity,  the  parlour,  remained  in  sedate  security, 
a  haven  of  rest  and  refreshment  for  the  traveller  and  habitue 
alike. 

You  entered  this  delectable  chamber  through  a  small  porch 
in  the  lane  running  north-easterly  to  Chase  Side,  the  inner  door 
opening  inwards  like  any  door  at  home.  An  oblong  room  it  was, 
with  red  plush  seats  round  the  outer  sides,  a  fireplace  where  a 
real  fire  crackled  and  flamed  o'  winter  nights,  and  a  small  bar 
communicating  with  the  general  dispensary  beyond  but  screened 
from  vulgar  gaze.  Here  perhaps  some  fifteen  people  might  sit 
in  quiet  seclusion,  passing  one  another  the  glass  water-jug,  for 
soda  was  not  in  vogue  as  it  is  now.  One  or  two  couples  (en- 
gaged) would  be  found  there,  he  drinking  gin,  she  port  wine. 
Ladies,  married  or  engaged,  generally  unbent,  so  far  as  to  remove 
a  glove,  raise  the  veil  above  the  eyes,  and  perhaps  even  adjust  a 
garter,  so  select  and  quiet  was  this  room.  Young  sparks  rarely 
frequented  it;  perhaps  on  Saturday  night  (a  bad  night  for  the 
select)  the  bar  would  fill  with  frivolity,  and  regular  patrons 
would  sit,  glass  on  knee  and  cigar  raised  upwards,  somewhat 
jostled,  but  equable  of  temper,  waiting  until  the  unwelcome  tide 
had  ebbed  away  homeward. 

The  walls  were  panelled  and  so  heavily  varnished  that  the 
original  graining  was  lost  in  the  general  duskiness  of  the  glaze, 
and  furnished  a  perfect  background  for  the  pictures,  a  set  of 
black-framed  engravings,  Hogarth's  own,  of  Manage  a  la  Mode. 
They  were  an  admirable  comment,  these  cruelly  clever  drawings, 
upon  the  actual  contrasted  with  the  visible  life  led  by  the  select 
and  serious  couples  and  parties  who  sat  drinking,  little  finger 
stuck  genteelly  outwards,  beneath  them.  One  could  have  wished 
that  sardonic  genius  to  have  stepped  in  some  evening,  that  he 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  109 

might  have  got  the  one  glimpse  necessary  for  him  to  project 
another  series,  brought  up  to  date. 

Who  knows  ?  The  "  Apple  Tree  "  was  there  before  him.  The 
present  scribe  would  die  happy  if  he  could  but  know  that  he 
had  been  forestalled. 

Let  him  not  forget  one  incontrovertible  proof  of  the  respect- 
ability of  the  patrons.  Every  one  knew  the  pictures  were  worth 
"  a  pot  o'  money."  Yet  they  remained  unmolested  on  their 
hooks,  and  there,  I  hope,  they  remain  to  this  day. 

In  order  to  reach  the  "  Apple  "  from  his  home,  Mr.  Gooderich, 
an  intermittent  habitue,  took  the  road  which  descends  with  dan- 
gerous steepness  into  the  valley  dividing  the  two  parishes,  crosses 
the  stream  at  the  bottom  and  mounts  with  even  greater  precipi- 
tousness  the  eastern  hill,  passing  between  the  grey  spired  church 
and  the  Chapel  Fields,  and  debouching  upon  the  Green.  It 
would  be  difficult  to  discover  in  any  of  the  villages  environing 
London  a  lane  more  secluded  by  foliage  and  high  walls  or  one 
terminating  in  a  more  rural  and  charming  vista.  To-night,  as 
Mr.  Gooderich  passed  the  permanently  muddy  bottom  and  began 
the  stiff  climb  to  the  church,  the  trees  overarched  it  so  completely 
that  the  moon  might  have  been  not  yet  risen,  so  dense  and 
palpable  was  the  gloom.  On  either  side  between  the  walls  that 
form  the  distinctive  feature  of  rural  London  stretched  thickets 
and  woodlands  amidst  which  you  might  find  a  number  of  man- 
sions whose  policies,  for  some  mysterious  reason,  are  traversed 
by  numerous  public  footpaths. 

Mr.  Gooderich  was  no  longer  a  young  man,  and  the  climb 
winded  him,  so  that  he  paused  a  moment  by  the  church,  looked 
up  at  the  gold  face  of  the  clock,  adjusted  his  Ingersoll,  and 
permitting  for  one  brief  instant  the  tiny  grain  of  poetry  in  his 
soul  to  diffuse  and  emerge,  waited  for  the  striking  of  the  hour. 
The  Chapel  Fields  were  bathed  in  a  blinding  bath  of  moon- 
light; but  he  stood  in  the  deep  shade  of  the  yew  hedge  in  front 
of  the  church.  The  chime  of  this  church  was  justly  celebrated 
for  its  penetrating  sweetness.  Little  Hannibal  had  discovered 
this,  all  by  himself,  one  wintry  evening.  And  here  was  his 
father  protracting  his  arrival  at  the  "  Apple  Tree  "  by  waiting  to 
hear  the  chime. 

Mr.  Goodcrich's  mind  was  sanguine  with  hope,  and  it  was 
characteristic  of  him  to  be  short  and  surly  with  his  wife  at 
such  a  time.     These  people  —  but  why  should  I  mount  a  pedestal, 


110  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

since  right  up  through  all  the  grades  of  our  social  fabric,  men 
act  thus  detestably  to  their  women.  Nor  should  I  blame  the 
man  at  all  since,  in  this  particular  case,  since  the  unusual  and 
piquant  cause  of  his  hope  has  been  barred  to  women  for  gen- 
erations. 

The  fact  was  that  Mr.  Gooderich  was  attacked  at  intervals 
by  fits  of  optimism,  as  when  he  resolved  to  save,  when  he  hoped 
to  win  that  five  pounds  a  week  and  a  house,  when  he  dyed  his 
hair  and  worked  for  a  foreman's  berth.  These  fits  had  burned 
up,  flared,  flickered,  and  gone  out.  He  believed  that  pre-em- 
inence in  life  was  a  matter  of  luck.  Look  at  Jeddah,  that  rank 
outsider!  But  this  time  he  believed  he  was  about  to  tread  a 
way  of  fortunate  security.  Why  hadn't  he  thought  of  it  before? 
Well,  you  see,  he  hadn't  been  in  the  way  of  it  much,  and  more- 
over he  hadn't  got  acquainted  with  Mr.  Julius  Fife.  Mr.  Fife 
it  was  who,  seated  side  by  side  with  Mr.  Gooderich  in  the 
"  Apple  Tree  "  parlour,  had  discussed  the  hardness  of  times,  the 
decay  of  old  England,  and  the  transcendent  advantages  of  being 
"  in  "  something.  Why  had  he,  Mr.  Gooderich,  never  been  "  in  " 
anything?  He  was  in  his  trade  union,  he  retorted,  but  Mr.  Fife 
had  waved  that  way  away  with  a  single  flick  of  his  fingers. 
That  was  all  well  enough  in  its  place,  a  very  low  place,  according 
to  Mr.  Julius  Fife.  Had  he  never  thought  of  joining  himself 
with  his  fellow-men  in  one  great  universal  brotherhood?  Mr. 
Gooderich  never  had,  and  it  may  be  stated  baldly  that  he  never 
would.  Though  he  was  now  on  his  way,  sanguine  with  hope, 
to  discuss  with  Mr.  Fife  the  possibility  and  manner  of  his  initia- 
tion into  Mr.  Fife's  Lodge,  the  notion  of  joining  any  fraternity 
for  the  pious  purpose  of  helping  others  never  entered  his  head. 
He  had  every  intention,  if  luck  favoured  him,  of  jumping  on 
others  and  stamping  their  faces  into  the  ground,  if  he  could 
improve  his  position  thereby.  Mr.  Julius  Fife's  aspirations  were 
pure  and  undefiled,  no  doubt.  I  do  not  know  him  very  well, 
and  he  is  welcome  to  the  benefit  of  the  doubt.  But  I  knew  Mr. 
Gooderich  like  the  back  of  my  hand,  and  I  can  assert  that  he 
was  entirely  innocent  of  philanthropic  sentiments.  The  Great 
Architect  of  the  Universe  would  have  been  nonplussed  to  find 
him  a  suitable  job  in  the  Temple.  His  talents  lay  in  other 
directions. 

The  deep  mellow  boom  of  the  great  bell  thrilled  through  the 
shining  night  as  he  stood  in  the  shadow  of  the  yew  hedge,  and 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  111 

the  heart  of  the  man  was  uplifted.  And  then  the  chime  —  Cling 
—  clang  —  cling  —  clang  —  cling  —  cling  —  clang  —  clang,  was 
followed  by  eight  solemn  strokes. 

Mr.  Gooderich  made  his  way  across  Southgate  Green. 

He  found  his  friend  Mr.  Julius  Fife,  a  man  of  spare  frame, 
plain  yet  expensive  raiment  and  neat  personal  habits.  He  was 
a  gentleman  of  the  Trade,  but  the  house  over  which  he  had 
presided  with  considerable  success  had  been  deprived  of  its  license 
on  some  frivolous  pretext,  and  Mr.  Fife  was  a  gentleman  at 
large  until  the  brewer  who  paid  him  a  hundred  a  year  and  a 
bonus  could  find  him  another  sphere  for  his  activity.  The  most 
salient  prejudice  of  Mr.  Fife's  mind  was  his  wolfish  ferocity 
towards  those  bigoted  gentlemen  who  had  persisted  in  interpret- 
ing a  license  as  a  document  of  merely  annual  validity.  Accord- 
ing to  Mr.  Fife,  a  license  was  as  eternally  valid  as  a  fiat  from 
God  —  indeed,  had  he  had  the  duty  of  bearing  his  license,  en- 
graved on  tables  of  stone,  from  out  of  the  thunder  of  Sinai,  he 
would  never  have  broken  it.  His  mind,  as  I  have  intimated,  was 
warped  in  its  attitude  towards  the  justices,  "  a  party  of  old 
womeil "  none  of  whom  had  any  real  living  financial  interest  in 
the  Trade,  and  who  actually  thought  three  public-houses  in  fifty 
yards  of  street  an  excessive  number.  Ah  —  h,  these  Radicals: 
for  Mr.  Fife  the  Liberal  Party  had  no  existence.  Like  the  Globe 
newspaper,  he  knew  only  Radicals,  who  read  "  Radical  Rags." 
This  alliterative  animadversion  acted  as  a  sedative  on  minds  like 
Mr.  Fife's.  And  it  was  an  apparent  and  curious  fact  that  the 
words  Trade  and  Union,  taken  apart,  thrilled  Mr.  Fife  to  the 
core  of  his  being,  but  when  coupled  together  these  roused  in  his 
soul  a  ferocity  even  more  wolfish  than  did  the  benighted  magis- 
trates. Such  was  the  person,  amiable  enough  in  exterior,  who 
nodded  good  evening  to  Mr.  Gooderich  as  the  latter  entered  the 
decorous  precincts  of  the  "  Apple  Tree  "  parlour. 

The  community  of  interest  which  had  led  these  two  gentle- 
men to  fraternise  was  racing.  Mr.  Gooderich's  personal  ac- 
quaintance with  race-horses  was  as  intimate  as  his  knowledge  of 
elands  and  spotted  lemurs,  though  he  watched  their  form  with  a 
tenacity  of  purpose  and  a  fatigue  of  brain  sufficient  to  carry  him 
successfully  to  the  head  of  the  Wrangler's  List  at  Cambridge. 
Mr.  Fife,  on  the  other  hand,  was  acquainted  with  Newmarket. 
He  had,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  spent  two  years  as  a  bar-tender 
in  a  public-house  in  that  very  sleepy  little  township,  and  been 


112  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

very  glad  indeed  to  exchange  its  rural  atmosphere  for  the  more 
garish  delights  of  the  Brompton  Road.  Moreover,  so  admir- 
ably organised,  so  extraordinarily  discreet,  is  every  one  engaged 
in  the  racing  profession,  from  the  photographers  in  the  High 
Street  to  the  stable-urchins  in  the  football-field,  that  one  may 
live,  even  as  a  potman,  for  years  in  the  town,  and  never  glean 
a  "  tip  "  worth  twopence.  But  Mr.  Fife  did  not  tell  his  com- 
panion this.  He  submitted  tacitly  to  the  implication  that  while 
at  Newmarket  he  was  in  the  confidence  of  every  trainer  and 
manager  who  took  a  brandy  and  soda  from  his  hands.  As  for 
the  horses,  he  knew  them  all  by  sight  —  saw  them  every  day. 
So  he  did,  at  six  in  the  morning,  each  animal  so  swathed  and 
top-coated  that  it  might  have  been  a  Zebra  for  all  Mr.  Fife  knew 
to  the  contrary. 

Starting  from  so  felicitous  a  theme,  the  pair,  during  several 
informal  rencounters  at  the  "  Apple  Tree,"  had  pursued  tlieir 
way  among  the  myriad  problems  which  beset  our  modern  life, 
and  had  discovered  such  compatibility  of  temperament  that  Mr. 
Fife  had  cast  aside  the  toga  of  the  Trade,  so  to  speak,  and 
addressing  Mr.  Gooderich  as  a  fellow  man,  bade  him  enter  the 
Mystic  Portals  and  become  a  neophyte  in  a  Lodge  in  which,  it 
was  understood,  in  a  manner  too  involved  and  subtle  to  transmit 
to  paper,  Mr.  Fife  himself  occupied  a  not  unimportant  posi- 
tion. 

The  question  was,  could  he  raise  the  necessary  twenty  pounds. 

Being  actually  on  the  top  of  the  tide  of  optimism  which  had 
been  gradually  overtaking  him  for  days,  and  very  soon  flushed 
with  spirit,  Mr.  Gooderich  saw  no  difficulties.  He  spoke  of  hav- 
ing to  draw  on  his  reserve  of  late,  work  being  scanty,  but  thought 
he  could  manage  it  "  very  shortly." 

"  Well,  of  course,  you  know  your  own  business  best.  Mister, 
but  I  thought  it  best  to  mention  it  you  —  understand?"  Mr. 
Gooderich  swallowed  and  nodded. 

"  Course,  if  it  is  any  particular  trouble,  seeing  I'm  the  one 
who's  puttin'  you  up  to  the  idea,  and,  'without  prejudice  '  " — 
(here  the  voice  of  Mr.  Fife  flattened  to  a  close-lipped  whisper) 
— "  draw  what  you  like,  up  to  fifty,  at  fi'  p'  cent." 

Mr.  Gooderich  fixed  his  eyes  critically  on  No.  3  Mariage 
a  la  Mode,  and  revolved  the  matter  in  his  mind.  It  was  a 
great  relief,  for  it  removed  the  necessity  for  telling  lie  after  lie 
all  to  cover  the  naked  fact  that  his  bank  account  was  seventeen 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  113 

and  eightpence.  He  had  no  objection  to  being  lent  money.  As 
for  the  interest,  what  improvident  man  ever  did  worry  his  head 
about  interest  ?  And  then  look  at  the  ultimate  advantage.  How 
they  all  backed  each  other  up,  looked  after  the  orphans  and 
widows  and  all  that.  .  .  .  Even  the   King 

Vague  visions  of  a  happier  future  floated  before  Mr.  Goode- 
rich's  eyes.  I  have  mentioned  in  a  previous  chapter  his  ideal 
of  existence,  in  a  tavern  by  the  sea.  Something  of  this  pos- 
sessed him  now  —  if  he  could  only  possess  the  substance !  It 
was  not  impossible  —  he  was  sitting  beside  a  man  who  had  been 
in  that  glorious  position,  who  would  be  in  it  again  shortly. 
Through  the  fumes  of  the  whisky  Mr.  Gooderich  contemplated 
happiness,  a  happiness  which  consisted  almost  entirely,  dear 
reader,  in  not  having  to  work.  That  improved  circumstances 
would  enable  him  to  educate  his  children,  buy  them  books  and 
instruments,  send  them  abroad  to  become  acquainted  with  the 
civilisations  of  Europe,  would  place  within  his  wife's  reach  a 
respite  from  her  abominable  and  ceaseless  toil,  give  her  fine  rai- 
ment and  decent  retirement  —  these  trivialities  did  not  obtrude 
themselves  upon  his  outlook  at  all. 

There  had  come  into  his  usually  quiet  eye  a  look  of  the  anx- 
ious ferrety  sort,  intended  by  him  to  indicate  a  knowing,  worldly, 
and  cynical  turn  of  mind. 

By  ten  o'clock  his  optimism  brooked  no  opposition  from  any- 
thing. The  question  of  security  was  disposed  of  with  a  laugh. 
If  he  couldn't  find  security  for  twenty  pounds  —  well!  What 
did  Mr.  Fife  take  him  for? 

At  ten-fifteen  Mr.  Fife  looked  at  a  rolled-gold  hunter,  com- 
pared it  ostentatiously  with  the  neat  black  clock  on  the  chimney- 
piece,  clicked  the  lid  to,  put  it  away  and  reached  for  his  stick. 
He  was  sorry,  but  he  had  an  appointment  at  eleven  with  a 
brother-in-law  of  his  —  a  little  matter  of  business.  He  would 
see  Mr.  Gooderich  the  following  evening  and  talk  it  over  further. 
No  need  to  rush  it.  Go  into  things  bald-headed,  and  you  get 
singed!  (Greater  men  than  Julius  Fife  have  mixed  metaphors.) 
Take  your  time  and  you  didn't  regret  it.  Well,  was  Mr.  Goode- 
rich going  too?  In  the  opposite  direction  of  course.  Well,  goo* 
night.     Goo'  night,  Miss! 

And  Mr.  Fife,  relighting  his  pipe,  made  off  in  an  easterly 
direction  towards  Palmer's  Green. 

Mr.  Gooderich   paused  in   front  of  the  Assembly  Rooms  to 


114  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

collect  himself.  He  was  sanguine,  there  was  no  doubt  of  that. 
Equally  undeniable  was  the  potency  of  the  spirit  within  him. 
He  straightened  himself  up,  set  forward  westward,  but  did  not 
notice,  so  deep  were  his  cogitations,  that  he  was  taking  the  road 
through  the  village  instead  of  that  by  the  church,  until  the 
brazen  front  and  acetylene  lights  of  the  "  Green  Dragon " 
recalled  him  to  the  world  of  sense.  He  went  on,  reflecting  that 
just  a  little  ahead  on  the  opposite  was  a  signpost  and  a  gate, 
which  led  to  a  path  across  the  fields  —  one  of  those  fortuitous 
and  illogical  trails  I  have  mentioned  —  over  the  stream  at  the 
bottom  of  the  valley,  and  so  out  upon  the  East  Barnet  Road.  It 
was  a  fine  night,  a  beautiful  night  for  a  sanguine  man  to  take 
a  walk.  It  was  early  yet.  And  he  passed  over,  sighted  the  gate, 
made  it  safely,  and  resumed  his  walk  and  his  musings. 

"  The  intellectual  power,  through  words  and  things,  went 
sounding  on  its  dim  and  perilous  way." 

For  Mr.  Gooderich  assisted  his  reverie  by  a  series  of  dis- 
jointed sentences,  not  always  to  the  point,  sometimes  profoundly 
obscure.  Like  some  great  poets,  whose  most  impassioned  moods 
and  loftiest  flights  are  the  most  difficult  to  construe,  so  Mr. 
Gooderich 's  mentality,  as  it  soared  into  the  empyrean,  became 
less  adapted  to  our  common  speech,  and  the  "  way  "  would  have 
seemed  "  dim  and  perilous  "  had  there  been  any  one  near  to 
listen.  Frequently  enough  he  encountered  lovers,  but  the  respect- 
ability which  he  wrapped  round  his  soul  even  in  drink  came  to 
his  aid  and  he  stalked  by  them  impeccable.  And  as  he  advanced 
the  sheltering  trees  were  left  behind,  the  path  lay  down  across 
wide  misty  meadows,  destitute  of  the  seclusion  so  dear  to  the 
lover,  and  Mr.  Gooderich  wavered  onward,  a  solitary  man.  The 
cool  night-wind  after  those  potions  of  warm  water  and  whisky, 
did  not,  as  many  inexperienced  folk  imagine,  allay  the  disorder 
of  the  brain.  It  seems  almost  as  though,  when  the  spirit  has 
risen  to  the  head,  it  is  confirmed  there  by  a  cooler  air.  Moreover, 
that  terrible  white  radiance  in  which  he  moved  is  no  friend  of 
sanity. 

"  To  be  —  be  a I'm  all  right,  now  I'm  a  —  what  a  saucy 

bitch  that  gel  is!  So  help  me  Gawd!  I'll  tell  her  —  phoo!  — 
where's  the  matches  —  her  mother  knows  she's  a  —  what  a  life ! 
— 'f  I  wasn't  married  I  could  get  on,  oh  yes, —  sh'll  look  ol' 
fash'n'd  when  she  knows  she's  a  —  a  Mason !  —  me  I  mean  — 
wimmen  bob  down  then  —  whupp!  dam  the  fence  —  like  day- 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  115 

light  this  moon  is.  Where's  me  matches  ?  —  now  hold  up,  Jed- 
dah !  O  my  Gawd,  Jeddah !  "  He  dropped  the  match  flaming 
to  the  ground  and  stood  staring  into  a  vacancy  of  horror.  That 
day!  How  the  name  of  the  horse  brought  back  that  terrible 
Derby!  Slowly  he  struck  another  match,  shaking  his  head. 
"  Fort'n  o'  war !  "  he  muttered,  moving  on.  "  Are  we  down- 
hearted ?  make  anybody  down-'earted,  t'live  wi'  'er.  R  —  r  —  r! 
yer  little  slattox!  Than-gaw'  you  ain't  mine,  wi'  yer  chin  stuck 
out." 

His  dislike,  or  impatience  or  whatever  it  was,  exacerbated 
by  alcohol,  flickered  tremulously  from  wife  to  daughter,  from 
daughter  to  wife.  And  so  in  a  zigzag  way  he  came  to  the 
bottom,  where  the  path  ran  into  shade  again,  and  an  old  tree 
leaned  over  the  stream  by  the  little  wooden  bridge. 

A  lady  and  gentleman,  communing  after  the  manner  of  their 
kind  upon  the  mystery  of  elective  affinities  (How  strange!  And 
I  was  goin'  to  school  then.  Fancy  ever  comin'  to  this:)  and 
possibly  other  astonishing  aspects  of  their  lives  which  they  per- 
ceived reflected  in  the  stream,  were  leaning  on  the  rail,  he  idly 
cutting  his  initials  with  his  knife.  With  some  impatience  they 
turned  on  the  interloper,  who  had  paused  behind  them  to  pursue 
his  interminable  pipe-lighting.  With  no  loss  of  dignity,  the  gen- 
tleman, outraged  by  this  infraction  of  the  unwritten  Laws  of 
Love  and  Courtship,  shut  up  his  knife,  took  the  lady's  arm  and 
moved  on,  leaving  a  neatly  carved  R  and  a  half-finished  S  (very 
difficult  to  do  an  S  decently)  on  the  mossy  rail.  Mr.  Gooderich, 
wasting  matches,  looked  after  them  stupidly  for  a  moment,  and 
then  leaned  on  the  rail  himself,  glad  of  the  support.  The  unmis- 
takable displeasure  of  the  pair  cast  a  shadow  over  his  optimism. 
What  had  he  done?  He  was  a  respectable  man,  goin'  to  join  a 
lodge,  wasn't  he?  Well  then,  where  were  the  matches?  He 
looked  at  his  pipe,  trying  to  capture  an  idea  that  had  flitted 
across  his  mind  just  now.  Ah!  It  wanted  cleaning.  He  ran 
his  hand  along  the  weather-worn  rail  until  a  split  in  the  wood 
caught  his  fingers,  now  intertwined.  They  'adn't  bought  the 
bloomin'  bridge,  'ad  they?  Well  then.  He  continued  to  pull 
abstractedly,  not  noticing  that  the  split  opened  obliquely  across 
the  grain.  Gaw  dam't,  come  off!  He  gave  a  wrench  which 
dislodged  the  rail  at  the  far  end,  and  leaning  in  his  surprise 
still  more  heavily  upon  it,  it  gave  way  and  plunged  him  head- 
long into  the  stream. 


116  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

Little  Hanny  and  Hiram,  returning  stained  and  weed-draggled 
from  Littler 's  Pond,  came  past  the  church  and  down  the  steep 
hill,  triumphant  with  three  fish  of  negligible  size. 

Arrived  at  the  stone  bridge  they  began  a  discussion  of  the 
huge  fish  to  be  had  in  this  stream,  and  sitting  on  the  northern 
parapet  they  stared  at  the  three-foot  weir  over  which  the  water 
was  pouring  with  a  faint  musical  sound. 

"  That's  what  keeps  'em  down  here,  I  guess,"  said  Hiram, 
jerking  his  stick  towards  the  weir.  "  There  ain't  no  fish  up 
there,  'cause  I  tried  it  at  that  little  wood  bridge  on  the  path. 
It's  deep  and  got  stones  at  the  bottom,  but  there  ain't  no  fish." 

"  There  is  over  'ere,"  said  Hannibal,  flinging  his  thumb  over 
his  shoulder. 

"  You  git  summoned  quick  if  you're  copped." 

"  Um.     Not  'alf."     They  swung  their  legs  in  unison. 

"  Say,  Hanny,  what's  that  comin'  down  there?     See  it?  " 

"I  dunno.     Ain't  a  dog,  is  it?" 

Out  on  the  shining  whiteness  of  the  meadow-bordered  stream 
beyond  the  trees  they  saw  a  black  blob  moving  quickly  towards 
them. 

"  Lummy !  "  said  Hannibal,  and  Hiram  echoed  "  Lummy !  " 
and  with  that  absurd  ejaculation  their  feelings  passed  into  the 
region  of  the  inexpressible.  Sometimes  it  disappeared,  that 
curious  blob  on  the  shimmering  whiteness  of  the  water,  some- 
times paused  and  turned  slowly  on  itself,  caught  by  some  invis- 
ible snag,  then  vanished  into  the  shadow  of  the  trees.  They 
waited,  trembling  and  voiceless,  for  the  splash,  and  jumped  when 
they  heard  it,  straining  their  eyes  to  pierce  the  darkness.  Simul- 
taneously they  saw  it,  saw  it  with  a  chill  at  their  hearts  and  a 
crawling  sensation  of  their  skins,  immediately  beneath  them, 
turning  horribly  on  the  footing  of  the  bridge,  and  slipping  under 
them.  With  a  quick  intake  of  his  breath,  Hiram  ran  across  the 
road,  climbed  the  parapet  and  looked  over  the  wooden  fence  that 
rose  above  it.  Hannibal,  in  a  trance,  followed,  afraid,  grating 
his  knees  on  the  stones  as  he  tried  to  mount  beside  his  com- 
panion. Hiram  put  his  hand  against  Hanny's  face  and  pushed 
him  back. 

"  What's  up  ? "  Hanny  whispered,  looking  up  scared  and 
trembling. 

Hiram  slipped  down  and  pulled  up  his  stockings. 

"It's    a   man."     He   breathed.     "He's    dead,    I    guess.     I'll 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  117 

run  an'  tell  Ma.  You  stop  here,  Hanny."  And  he  ran  off  up 
the  road  as  hard  as  he  could.  The  child  looked  after  his  friend 
as  though  wishful  to  follow.  A  dead  man!  He  put  his  knees 
against  the  stones  once  again  and  clambered  up.  The  full  light 
of  the  moon  came  strongly  upon  the  water  just  there  and  he 
saw  it  grounded  on  a  sandy  shoal,  the  hands  swaying  purpose- 
lessly in  the  current,  a  quiet  and  memorable  picture. 

With  a  little  cry  the  boy  slid  to  the  ground,  and  there  they 
found  him,  huddled  against  the  wall  in  the  darkness,  one  hand 
pressed  on  the  stones,  the  other  covering  his  face. 


XVII 

MRS.  WILFLEY,  when  she  heard  of  the  domestic  be- 
reavement from  Minnie  herself,  sprang  at  the 
opportunity  like  a  lioness  upon  her  prey.  Minnie, 
somewhat  fatigued  by  the  emotional  stress  of  the 
previous  night,  and  rendered  a  little  uncertain  of  herself  by  an 
encounter  with  the  young  man  in  the  coal-agent's  office,  was 
borne  down,  swept  off  her  feet  and  carried  away  by  a  torrent  of 
gush  unparalleled  even  in  Clifford's  Inn.  When  it  subsided 
she  found  herself,  limp  and  bewildered,  on  the  Chesterfield  by 
the  window,  sniffing  a  handkerchief  drenched  in  Florida-water 
and  listening  to  Mrs.  Wilfley's  plans  for  the  future. 

These  plans  were  in  the  main  altruistic.  In  spite  of  her  frail 
health  and  an  urgent  request  from  a  northern  editor  to  write  a 
series  of  articles  on  the  moral  tone  of  the  town,  Mrs.  Wilfley 
was  resolved  to  interest  herself  in  the  welfare  of  the  Gooderich 
family.  She  had  done  this  sort  of  thing  before,  and  knew  that 
swiftness  of  initiative  was  imperative  if  some  one  else  were 
not  to  prevent  her.  Of  course  nothing  could  be  done  publicly 
until  the  funeral,  but  much  might  be  accomplished  privately,  so 
that  at  the  psychological  moment,  a  phrase  dear  to  her,  she 
might  burst  forth  in  the  very  forefront  of  the  movement  as  hon- 
our ary  secretary  of  a  committee  of  prominent  people,  including 
one  or  two  local  people,  to  arrange  a  grand  concert  in  aid  of 
such  a  deserving  case.  Mrs.  Wilfley  placed  much  reliance  on 
her  influence  with  the  local  religious  life:  her  articles,  she  had 
reason  to  believe,  were  read  omnivorously  in  Nonconformist  cir- 
cles. Possibly  a  lecture  by  her  on  "  Slum  Life  "  or  "A  Flower- 
Girl's  Tragedy  "  might  be  a  further  contribution. 

All  this,  as  it  became  clear  to  Minnie  from  Mrs.  Wilfley's  ex- 
planation, was  profoundly  distasteful.  She  realised  that  neither 
she  nor  her  family  had  the  slightest  claim  upon  the  neighbour- 
hood. Her  father  had  not  been  a  member  of  any  club  or  church, 
they  had  done  nothing  individually  or  collectively  to  identify 
themselves  with  the  community,  they  had  merely  lived  rather 

118 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  119 

meanly  and  obscurely  amidst  a  number  of  other  mean  and  ob- 
scure families.  Moreover,  she  had  the  nobility  of  soul  which 
is  libellously  miscalled  "  proper  pride  " ;  she  resented  the  inter- 
ference of  strangers  in  her  affairs.  She  was  not  a  good  girl, 
she  was  not  a  "  nice  girl,"  she  went,  eventually,  far  from  the 
paths  df  virtue;  but  at  least  she  stood  on  her  own  feet;  she 
took  the  wages  of  sin,  not  the  spongings  of  the  pious.  But  Mrs. 
Wilfley  considered  Minnie's  distaste  not  at  all.  She  was  re- 
solved to  take  an  interest  in  the  case,  and  she  did.  She  told 
Minnie  to  go  home  and  look  after  her  mother  and  leave  the 
matter  entirely  in  her  hands.  Which  Minnie  was  willing  to  do, 
only  —  here  she  sat  up  and  faced  her  benefactress  —  was  she  to 
start  on  her  new  work? 

"  Oh,  certainly,"  chanted  Mrs.  Wilfley.  "  My  dear  girl,  what 
can  you  think  of  me?  I  will  send  you  a  cheque  for  a  month's 
salary  at  once.  Have  I  the  address?  Yes;  well,  I  will  for- 
ward it  at  once." 

Nothing  could  be  more  generous,  more  charming. 

When  Minnie  was  gone,  Mrs.  Wilfley,  who  had  the  constitu- 
tion of  a  cart-horse  when  she  found  it  convenient,  sat  down  and 
did  several  hours'  hard  work.  Then  she  went  downstairs  to  a 
publisher  on  the  ground  floor,  and  borrowing  his  telephone  (who 
can  refuse  a  lady?)  held  communication  with  Mrs.  Worrall, 
Mr.  Anthony  Gilfillan,  and  the  secretary  of  a  dramatic  employ- 
ment bureau.  Mrs.  Worrall  referred  her  dear  friend  to  Mrs. 
Gaynor,  Mr.  Gilfillan,  arguing  company-law  with  a  suspicious 
solicitor,  professed  himself  charmed  to  assist  Mrs.  Wilfley,  and 
begged  to  be  placed  on  the  committee  as  he  lived  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood, and  the  secretary  of  the  dramatic  employment  bureau 
ran  over  a  list  of  names  on  his  desk  which,  he  believed,  would 
suit  such  a  concert  as  Mrs.  Wilfley  suggested,  and  hoped  to  hear 
further  shortly.  Terms,  he  added,  as  usual,  five  per  cent,  com- 
mittee to  pay  all  travelling  expenses.  These  matters  adjusted, 
the  lady  thanked  the  publisher  prettily,  ascended  to  her  own 
flat  again,  and  wrote  a  tactful  letter  to  Mrs.  Gaynor.  She  knew, 
she  said,  from  what  their  mutual  friend  Mrs.  Worrall  had  hinted, 
that  Mrs.  Gaynor  would  prove  a  valuable  ally  in  this  projected 
charity,  and  begged  Mrs.  Gaynor  to  assist  her  by  suggesting  a 
suitable  prominent  local  resident  as  president  and  chairman. 
Hoping  for  the  pleasure  of  a  meeting  shortly,  she  begged  to 
remain,  etc 


120  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

To  this  Mrs.  Gaynor  replied  briefly,  saying  that  while  quite 
unfitted  for  any  active  participation  in  the  proposed  affair,  she 
had  no  hesitation  in  advising  Mrs.  Wilfley  to  approach  Colonel 
Corinth-Squires,  of  Chits-hill  Place,  to  assume  the  chairmanship, 
he  being  quite  the  proper  person  and  well  able  to  give  solid  finan- 
cial support  as  well  as  social  prestige.  And  she  begged  to  re- 
main, etc. 

And  so,  almost  before  the  coroner  had  packed  his  black  bag, 
the  preliminaries  had  been  settled,  the  parties  had  been  ap- 
proached, and  the  musical  artistes  had  had  word  of  a  possible 
engagement  in  North  London. 

Colonel  Corinth-Squires,  on  receipt  of  a  letter  from  a  total 
stranger,  remembered  with  a  start  that  he  had  promised  to  speak 
to  a  friend  commanding  the  Wessex  Fusiliers  concerning  the 
lad  who  had  so  dramatically  stated  his  intention  to  be  a  soldier. 

He  had  made  a  note  of  it  at  the  time,  but  one  thing  and  an- 
other had  caused  the  affair  to  slip  from  memory.  Now  the 
name  Gooderich  recalled  the  whole  matter.  While  writing  at 
once  to  Casterbridge  Depot,  his  daughter  came  in  and  expressed 
surprise  that  the  authoress,  Olga  Wilfley,  should  be  writing  to 
her  father.  The  Colonel  was  gratified.  Even  he  had  heard  of 
the  book  The  Licencees  of  Love,  and  he  delighted  his  daughter 
by  permitting  her  to  answer  Mrs.  Wilfley  favourably,  adding  an 
invitation  to  dinner  to  enable  them  to  discuss  the  whole  proposi- 
tion. 

"  As  a  matter  of  fact,"  said  the  Colonel,  half  to  himself  and 
half  to  his  daughter  as  she  sat  writing  her  note,  "  as  a  matter  of 
fact,  it's  quite  unnecessary  to  use  any  influence  to  get  a  lad  into 
the  Army  except  physical  force,  which  will  never  happen  in 
this  wretched  country.  On  the  other  hand,  if  I  send  him  to 
Casterbridge,  and  he  thinks  some  one  is  interested  in  his  good 
behaviour,  he  will  probably  stick  to  his  work  and  turn  out  well. 
If  I  don't,  he  may  not  go  into  the  Army  at  all,  and  become  a 
counter-jumper  or  a  —  a  something  useless."  Miss  Corinth- 
Squires  carefully  ignored  her  father's  cogitations  and  bent  all 
her  attention  to  the  writing  of  the  note.  She  was  not  a  good 
penwoman,  and  the  letter,  when  written,  resembled  the  horo- 
scopes sold  by  Hindoo  fortune-tellers  in  Bombay.  She  had, 
moreover,  a  difficulty  in  striking  just  that  chord  of  dignity,  pat- 
ronage, and  cordiality  which  she  felt  would  be  acceptable  to  such 
a  distinguished  woman  as  Mrs.  Olga  Wilfley.     She  was  really 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  121 

grateful  to  dear  Dad  for  giving  her  this  chance  to  overtop  the 
Barlows,  the  Revingtons,  and  even  the  Plunket-Downes  with 
their  insufferable  Newnham  daughter  who  read  Ostrovsky  in  the 
original. 

When  Mrs.  Wilfley  received  the  note,  she  dismissed  from  her 
mind  the  notion  that  it  was  written  in  an  Oriental  language,  and 
at  once  fell  upon  its  exegesis.  She  knew  by  experience  the  de- 
plorable state  of  education  among  the  upper  classes.  Perhaps 
this  word  is  not  sufficiently  strong.  Exegesis,  as  Doctor  John 
Browne  kindly  explains  to  us  non-classical  folks,  means  bringing 
out  of  a  passage  all  there  is  in  it.  Mrs.  Wilfley  did  this,  but  I 
think  she  also  followed  that  brilliant  school  of  commentators 
and  art  critics  who  read  into  a  work  vastly  more  than  the  original 
Father  or  Master  ever  dreamed  of.  Certainly  Miss  Carolyn 
Corinth-Squires  would  have  been  agreeably  tickled  had  she 
known  how  far-reaching  Mrs.  Wilfley  imagined  the  results  of 
this  encounter  to  extend.  But  Miss  Corinth-Squires  was  not  a 
public  person.  She  had  never  reflected  on  the  fact  that  all  fame 
is  built  up  of  innumerable  microscopic  transmitted  opinions,  of 
myriads  of  inconceivably  small  enthusiasms  which,  like  coral 
insects,  live  out  a  brief  life  among  their  fellow  specks  and  die, 
leaving  a  tiny  hollow  shell  of  sounding  reputation,  and  form, 
with  the  coming  of  the  years,  a  reef  round  which  the  breakers 
roar  and  on  which  many  a  cock-boat,  useful  in  itself,  is  dashed 
to  atoms.  I  do  not  say  that  Mrs.  Wilfley  ran  this  thought  to 
earth  in  exactly  the  same  way  as  I  have  done,  but  she  was 
keenly  conscious  of  the  fact  and  welcomed  any  means  of  extend- 
ing its  application  to  herself.  Both  ladies,  indeed,  had  so  much 
to  occupy  their  immediate  deliberations  that  the  bereaved  fam- 
ily almost  dropped  out  of  memory  altogether.  Not  so  the 
Colonel.  He  had  told  the  story  at  White's  with  approval,  the 
story  of  that  masterly  manoeuvre  on  Trinity  Green,  that  Napole- 
onic stroke  of  genius  of  the  feint,  the  ambush,  the  final  furious 
melee.  Give  the  boy  a  five-poun'  note  and  pay  his  fare  to  Cas- 
tcrbridge,  eh?  By  George,  it  had  done  him  good  when  that 
young  ruffian  had  stuttered  out  "  Soldier,  sir,"  all  among  his 
mates  in  the  class.     Good  stuff  there! 

Bert  appeared. 

"  Still  o'  the  same  mind,  eh?" 

"  Yessir,"  replied  Bert. 

"  That's  good,  that's  good.     Well,  I'll  give  you  a  note  to  the 


122  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

Colonel  at  Casterbridge  —  here  it  is  —  and  here's  a  trifle  to  help 
the  mother.  Oh,  that's  all  right,  my  lad.  Stick  in  and  step 
smartly.  Make  a  man  of  you  in  no  time.  Always  trouble  some- 
where in  the  Empire,  yo'  know;  may  get  your  chance  any  day. 
That's  right,  that's  right.     Good-bye." 

And  Bert,  armed  with  his  note  and  a  small  bag  of  movable 
dunnage,  made  his  way  to  Casterbridge  and  dropped  civilian's 
life  and  clothes  forever  and  without  regret.  He  was  glad,  he 
admitted,  that  the  inquest  decided  his  old  man  "  'adn't  done  his- 
self  in,"  Bert  having  deep-laid  and  quite  inarticulate  views  on 
self-destruction;  and  he  was  glad  to  feel  that  he  would  not 
be  round  when  the  grand  concert  came  off. 

For  the  grand  concert,  thanks  to  Mrs.  Wilfley's  unflagging 
efforts,  came  off,  in  the  Assembly  Rooms,  in  style.  She  had 
dined  at  the  Corinth-Squires'  and  had  been  begged  to  assume 
the  secretaryship.  That  accomplished,  she  made  many  friends 
among  the  religious  denominations,  secured  the  editor  of  the  local 
paper,  engaged  her  artistes,  contracted  for  the  hall  and  printing, 
did  everything,  in  fact,  in  a  clever  and  expeditious  manner. 
Minnie,  proceeding  day  by  day  to  Clifford's  Inn,  did  most  of 
the  clerical  drudgery,  it  was  true;  but  could  she  do  less,  she  who 
was  to  benefit  so  largely,  she  who  had  received  a  month's  sal- 
ary in  advance?  And  it  was  during  these  days,  when  Mr.  Gil- 
fillan,  as  a  member  of  the  committee,  called  frequently  to  confer 
with  the  secretary,  that  Minnie's  nature  became  softer  and  more 
pliant  under  his  dominant  personality. 

The  widow,  addressing  her  bed-posts  before  turning  out  the 
light,  remarked: 

"  Tony  takes  an  interest  in  the  child  " ;  adding,  as  she  reached 
out  to  the  switch: 

**  And  she  looks  very  effective  in  black." 


XVIII 

MINNIE  was,  however,  the  only  one  of  the  family  who 
did  look  effective  in  black.  Mrs.  Gooderich  was  not 
an  effective  woman  at  the  best  of  times,  and  she 
supported  the  role  of  widow  neither  with  dignity  nor 
composure.  She  was  harassed,  she  said,  with  so  many  things. 
Truly  the  sudden  removal  of  the  companion  of  so  many  years 
was  a  shock;  but  tears?  She  felt  that  her  position  involved 
many  tears,  so  persistent  is  the  hypocrisy  of  modern  life.  Mrs. 
Gaynor  was  of  no  avail  against  the  enormous  weight  of  tradi- 
tion. Her  silent  yet  powerful  personality  was  baffled  in  its  at- 
tempt to  assuage  the  lachrymatory  flood.  Unwittingly,  no 
doubt,  she  was  of  too  fine  a  type  to  deal  with  the  woman,  for 
her  patience  broke  down  after  the  funeral,  when  the  returning 
cortege  halted  at  the  "  Northern  Star  "  and  the  mourners  filled 
the  saloon-bar  with  crepe.  With  an  indignation  unexpressed  in 
words,  but  patent  in  her  carriage,  Mrs.  Gaynor  walked  slowly 
home.  This  adjournment  was  not  proposed  by  Mrs.  Gooderich, 
though  she  thought  it  only  the  thing  to  do.  Her  husband's 
sister's  husband,  father  of  Amelia,  Thomas,  Ethel,  and  John, 
who  bulked  largely  in  the  first  carriage,  was  the  author  of  the 
scheme.  They  were  all  there,  the  builder  in  a  small  way  in 
Camberwell,  his  large  languid  wife,  his  pre-eminently  respect- 
able children,  Amelia,  Thomas,  Ethel,  and  John,  black-garbed, 
quiet  and  interested.  Little  Hannibal  sat  opposite  little  Amelia; 
and  they  two,  destined  in  happier  years  to  walk  as  sweethearts 
to  and  fro,  regarded  one  another  with  the  mysterious  resentment 
of  children.  Mr.  Brown  himself  was,  as  I  said,  a  bulky  man, 
with  a  firm  mouth,  conventional  whiskers,  and  a  humorous  blue 
eye.  Perhaps  it  was  his  humour  that  led  him  to  call  at  a 
licensed  house  for  the  funeral  baked  meats.  Perhaps  he  fath- 
omed Mrs.  Gaynor's  racial  antipathy  to  gin-palaces,  and  de- 
sired, after  the  manner  of  Gothic  humourists,  to  emphasise  the 
grotesque.  Perhaps  he  was  merely  conventionally  anxious  for 
a  drink,  for  he  made  no  remark  when  she  stalked  away  from  the 

123 


124  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

spot,  and  doubtless  forgot  her  while  consuming  pork-pie  and 
stout. 

He  was  unfeignedly  pleased  to  hear  that  local  people  were 
fixing  up  a  concert  in  aid  of  his  sister-in-law,  for  he  held  no 
sentimental  views  of  his  duties  towards  the  widow  and  the  or- 
phan. He  had  four  growing  children  to  feed  and  clothe,  his 
own  wife  was  "  delicate,"  as  witness  her  partiality  for  invalid 
stout  and  port  wine,  his  business  was  small  and  profits  pre- 
carious, what  could  he  do?  He  was  surprised,  he  said,  that 
Herbert  had  not  been  "  in  "  anything  but  his  trade-union,  who 
had  provided  the  funeral  expenses,  but  he  and  him  had  never 
had  much  truck  with  each  other.  Live  an'  let  live  was  his 
motto.  Ah,  well,  we  all  'ad  to  go  some  time.  Any  little  thing 
he  could  do,  he  declared,  at  any  time,  he'd  only  be  too  glad. 

Minnie,  watching  him  with  mercilessly  steady  eyes,  and  igno- 
rant of  the  high  courageous  humour  that  balanced  him  on  his 
slippery  little  vantage  point  of  life,  decided  that  it  was  very 
little  he  would  ever  do.  Which  was  unreasonable  of  the  girl, 
for  she  had  no  wish  to  be  beholden  to  him;  but  she  was  in  an 
unreasonable  mood  all  that  day.  The  coal-agent's  clerk,  not 
satisfied  with  her  politely  evasive  answer  at  the  station  that 
morning,  after  the  tragedy,  had  called  and  asked  if  the  occasion 
might  not  pave  the  way  to  a  reconciliation,  and  Mrs.  Gooderich 
had  silently  implored  her  daughter  to  be  human  and  generous. 
Almost  the  evil  spirit  in  her  had  prompted  her  to  say,  "If  you 
want  him,  mother,  you  can  have  him  —  now,"  but  she  had 
flinched  from  that  viciousness  and  left  the  room  with  a  shake 
of  the  head.  Mrs.  Gaynor's  defection  had  disturbed  her  too, 
for  she  had  an  enormous  respect  for  Mrs.  Gaynor,  a  respect 
which  that  lady  would  never  have  drawn  from  either  Mrs.  Goode- 
rich or  Mr.  Brown,  Minnie  being  of  a  finer  texture,  her  mind 
of  a  subtler  cast.  And  though  Mr.  Anthony  Gilfillan's  unmis- 
takable interest  was  softening  her  attitude  towards  life,  trans- 
forming her  own  private  phantom-universe,  it  did  not  make  her 
any  easier  to  live  with,  which  proves  the  earthiness  of  Love. 

So  Uncle  and  Aunt  Brown  went  home  with  cousins  Amelia, 
Thomas,  Ethel,  and  John,  and  trouble  neither  the  Gooderich 
family  nor  us  for  some  time. 

Little  Hannibal  profited  most,  I  imagine,  from  the  whole 
business.  He  had  an  entire  new  suit  of  black  cloth,  new  boots, 
his  first  bowler  hat,  a  bath   (which  he  needed),  a  hair-cut,  a 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  125 

whole  new  set  of  ideas,  and  a  week's  holiday  in  which  to  set 
them  in  order.  I  pass  over  his  joy  in  playing  at  funerals: 
that  is  an  inhuman  drollery  common  to  most  children  and  was 
checked  with  the  thoughtless  ferocity  of  the  average  adult. 
What  seemed  to  me  interesting  was  the  nature  of  the  reaction 
from  the  first  Terror  that  overwhelmed  him,  child  that  he  was, 
when  he  saw  his  father's  face  in  the  moonlit  water,  the  Terror 
of  the  unknowable.  It  is  true  that  the  new  mood  was  retarded 
by  his  mother's  intermittent  gusts  of  affection  for  the  poor  little 
orphan,  retarded  still  more  by  the  embarrassing  questions  of  his 
schoolmates  after  the  funeral.  "Are  you  sorry?"  they  would 
ask  him  as  he  stood  in  a  ring  of  staring  interested  eyes.  "  Are 
you  sorry?"  "I  d'n  know,"  he  would  reply,  chucking  a  stone 
unconcernedly,  and  the  others  felt  they  were  being  defrauded. 
They  had  all,  of  course,  been  rogued  of  threepences  and  six- 
pences to  pay  for  the  School  Wreath,  which  an  insane  teacher 
had  proposed  in  order  to  gain  some  notoriety  for  himself,  and 
they  felt  dimly  that  in  return  they  should  have  been  given 
some  details  on  which  to  gloat,  some  ghoulish  tale  from  the 
House  of  the  Dead.  But  when  these  ephemera  had  passed 
away,  little  Hannibal's  mind  took  on  a  yet  more  emphatic  tinge 
of  reflectiveness,  his  thoughts  moved  in  a  closed  circle  round  and 
round  the  huge  and  shadowy  enigma  of  human  change,  and 
death  became  but  one  more  manifestation  of  it.  Bert  had 
changed,  had  become  coarsened  and  redolent  of  tobacco,  and  was 
about  to  vanish;  Minnie  had  changed,  had  grown  from  a  flinty- 
eyed  Medusa  who  petrified  his  adolescent  gambols  to  a  tolerant 
semi-stranger,  and  was  in  the  act  of  evanishment.  Viewed  in 
the  light  of  these  overwhelmingly  salient  facts,  and  slowly  and 
clumsily  excogitated,  the  problem  of  his  father's  high  adventure 
took  on  a  similar  hue  of  irrational  change.  The  paraphernalia 
of  interment  was  to  him  an  entirely  irrelevant  matter,  as  to  most 
children  who  are  spared  the  shocking  ordeal  of  inspecting  the 
coffined  dead.  I  suppose,  if  you  had  bullied  him  and  driven 
him  into  a  corner,  you  might  have  extracted  an  opinion  that  his 
father  was  "  in  there,"  but  this  by  no  means  invalidates  the 
contention  that  the  whole  business  was  a  rather  entertaining 
show,  ending  up  with  a  sip  of  port  wine  at  the  "  Northern  Star  " 
and  shrimps  for  tea.  To  "become  aware  suddenly,"  in  the  Pa 
tcrian  phrase,  "  of  the  great  stream  of  human  tears  falling  al- 
ways thro'  the  shadows  of  the  world,"  a  young  soul  must  have  a 


126  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

higher  conductivity,  a  closer  identity  with  Nature,  and  possibly 
a  clearer  atmosphere,  than  obtained  with  little  Hannibal.  Be 
that  as  it  may,  it  certainly  seemed  as  though  the  boy's  spirit, 
immersed  in  that  illimitable  ocean  of  the  unconditioned  of  which 
I  have  already  spoken,  had  been  drifted  away  by  an  invisible 
yet  resistless  current,  such  as  exist  in  our  terrestrial  atmos- 
phere, had  been  carried  neither  high  nor  low,  but  beyond  the 
radius  of  his  mother's  arms.  Had  fate  been  propitious  here  we 
might  have  proceeded  to  record  the  history  of  a  genius,  an 
iconoclast,  a  seer,  an  artist.  The  materials  were  there,  if  you 
consider  the  boy's  crystal-clear  vision  of  mind,  his  corporeal 
swimming  and  full  brown  eye.  But  the  fuel  was  slow-burning, 
the  flame  wandered  uselessly,  and  while  the  heat  was  to  no 
purpose,  there  was  no  explosion,  no  power.  And  that  is  the 
need  of  the  man  nowadays,  as  of  old,  power.  The  dreamer,  the 
thoughtful  ones  need  this  most  of  all.  Without  it  they  are 
peculiar,  but  ineffectual,  sometimes  also  abominably  sensual. 
You  shall  see. 

Here  ends,  therefore,  this  part  of  this  book.  To  what  good 
purpose  were  it  to  proceed  laboriously  with  the  disintegration 
of  this  family,  having  shown  you  the  spiritual  fact  accomplished. 
That  they  emerge  later,  coagulate  to  a  certain  extent,  disperse 
once  more,  and  finally  pass,  making  through  Hannibal  Goode- 
rich,  ■'  a  small  tribute  to  the  ascending  effort "  of  the  world, 
will  be  manifest  in  the  conclusion,  if  your  patience  will  carry 
you  so  far.  But  that  a  promise  may  be  redeemed,  we  may 
interpolate  as  an  episode  (at  this  time  of  day!)  the  love-story 
of  the  girl. 


END    OF    BOOK    ONE 


BOOK  TWO 
THE  CITY 


AU  virtue  which  is  impracticable 
i$  tpurioiu." —  Burke. 


PART  I 


IN  a  few  days,  after  Minnie  had  brought  a  wheezy,  ill- 
strapped  dress-basket  and  a  paper  bag  containing  her  Sun- 
day hat,  and  taken  up  her  quarters  on  a  truckle  bed  which 
was  hidden  during  the  day  under  a  yellow  cover,  she  de- 
clared open  war.  In  the  first  place,  Minnie  discovered  with 
some  surprise  that  the  companionship  of  Mrs.  Wilfley  involved 
housework  in  all  its  branches,  from  washing  dishes  to  cleaning 
hair-brushes  with  cloudy  ammonia.  Certainly  the  dishes  were 
only  breakfast  dishes,  and  the  latter  task  was  begged  from  her 
as  a  favour,  but  the  vertical  furrow  in  the  girl's  forehead  deep- 
ened for  all  that.  Then  again,  Mrs.  Wilfley  was  conversational 
in  the  sense  that  she  required  some  one  else  to  be  present  while 
she  talked  to  herself  about  herself.  It  was  not  reliable  in- 
formation because,  to  tell  the  truth,  Mrs.  Wilfley  knew  remark- 
ably little  about  herself,  but  it  was  an  integral  part  of  the 
lady.  She  had  dreams  of  a  salon  where  she  could  gather  about 
her  all  her  clever  friends,  a  salon  that  would  become  famous 
like  those  of  Rambouillet  and  Lady  Jeune.  They  of  course 
would  talk,  but  it  would  be  her  own  golden  voice  that  would 
weave  them  all  together  and  make  of  them  a  shining  and  mem- 
orable community.  In  the  meanwhile  she  practised  on  Minnie, 
a  young  woman  whose  soul,  she  decided,  was  dormant.  She 
had  practised  for  some  time  on  Anthony  Gilfillan,  who  possessed 
sufficient  humour  (toward  women)  to  escape  unharmed.  But 
Minnie's  nature  could  not  sustain  without  distortion  such  a 
heavy  panoply  of  glittering  harness  as  Mrs.  Wilfley's  com- 
panionship soon  became.  Superimposed  upon  the  girl's  as  yet 
unexploited  ambition  lay  a  stratum  of  satire,  a  thin  layer  of 
eestheticism  and  a  thick  mass  of  marble  indifference  streaked 
willi  vivid  and  tangled  veins  of  red  anger  and  love.  Of  sensu- 
ality  you  could  find  but  little,  that  being  found  most  often  with 
religiousness;  and  of  the  latter  the  most  exhaustive  assay  de- 
tected no  trace.  It  might  be  wondered  therefore  why  a  woman 
so  emotionally  destructive  as  Olga  Wilfley  should  have  "  taken 

X2U 


ISO  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

to  "  the  girl  as  she  had  done,  and  the  faint-hearted  investigator 
might  be  tempted  to  refer  the  puzzle  to  the  "  attraction  of  oppo- 
site types,"  and  leave  it  at  that.  Such  a  solution,  however,  is 
not  clear  enough  to  be  strictly  honest.  An  explanation  of  psy- 
chological phenomena  should  explain,  and  this  the  above  gen- 
eralisation does  not  do.  We  must  employ  some  reagent  that 
will  precipitate  the  turbidity  and  leave  the  whole  thing  clear. 
That  reagent  consists  in  the  statement  that  Olga  Wilfley  and 
Minnie  Gooderich,  though  widely  dissimilar  in  age,  experience, 
and  emotional  activity,  were  on  exactly  the  same  sex-plane. 
Neither  of  them  had  the  slightest  propensity  for  motherhood. 
In  neither  of  them  did  the  life-force  direct  the  imagination  to- 
wards domestic  fecundity  and  economic  ease.  To  Mrs.  Wilfley 
a  man  was  a  being  to  get  something  out  of,  even  if  it  were  only 
a  cab-ride  or  the  use  of  his  telephone;  to  Minnie  a  man  was 
sometimes  that,  sometimes  a  person  to  be  avoided.  But  to 
neither  of  them  was  a  man  a  lovable  and  ridiculous  chap  who 
hugged  them  and  kissed  them  and  gave  them  hats  and  sweets 
and  jewels  because  he  worshipped  the  ground  they  trod  on.  To 
hug  Mrs.  Wilfley  was  unthinkable.  You  might  as  well  have 
hugged  Lady  Hester  Stanhope  or  Margaret  Fuller,  to  take  two 
notable  examples.  And  Minnie  Gooderich,  dissimilar  as  she  ap- 
peared to  the  unpractised  eye,  was  at  this  time  in  the  same  case. 
To  Mrs.  Wilfley  marriage  was  a  thing  to  cackle  about,  to  Minnie 
it  was  distasteful  and  irrelevant.  To  both  of  them  Love  was 
a  powerful  but  far-off*  god. 

All  this,  however,  was  subterranean  and  unknown  to  the  two 
protagonists.  Minnie,  her  sleeves  rolled  up,  washing  from 
plates  the  grease  of  what  Mrs.  Wilfley  called  u  the  matutinal 
bacon,"  Mrs.  Wilfley  herself,  flitting  from  office  to  office  in  Fleet 
Street,  were  alike  ignorant  of  it  all  and  preoccupied  with  imme- 
diate concerns.  One  of  these  was  the  hour  of  rising.  Mrs. 
Wilfley,  having  an  artistic  temperament,  could  not  possibly  get 
herself  out  of  bed  before  ten  o'clock;  while  Minnie,  being  phys- 
ically sound  and  well-balanced,  woke  naturally  enough  about 
half-past  six.  To  lie  for  three  hours  tossing  about  on  a  truckle 
bed  was  torture  and  led  to  a  discussion. 

"  It  seems  such  a  waste  of  time,"  she  said  incisively,  and  she 
regarded  Mrs.  Wilfley,  with  her  dishevelled  hair  and  her  dirty 
dressing-gown,  with  disfavour.     "  Can't  I  do  something?  " 

Mrs.    Wilfley    disliked   noise.     Her   nerves    were   mere   rags 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  131 

where  noise  was  concerned,  though  she  could  listen  to  the  sound 
of  her  own  voice  for  a  long  time.  Minnie  submitted  unwillingly 
to  the  ten-o'clock  breakfast,  and,  after  the  housemaid's  work, 
lifted  the  lid  from  the  typewriter  and  bent  her  level  brows  upon 
a  batch  of  manuscript.  This  was  interesting.  The  first  and 
second  essays  were  chaotic  failures,  of  course,  but  Minnie  found 
herself  wondering  what,  after  all,  there  was  in  it.  It  may  be 
doubted  if  she  would  have  made  equally  swift  progress  in  a 
school,  for  overlooking  and  fussy  guidance  were  irksome  to  her. 
She  was  one  of  those  people  who  seem  to  learn  with  an  economy 
of  failure  inexplicable  to  minds  whose  interests  are  more  dif- 
fused. She  was,  to  use  an  old-fashioned  phrase,  neat-handed. 
To  use  a  still  older  word  in  a  new  yet  permissible  connection, 
she  was  "  feat."  One  must  attribute  this  to  the  concentration 
of  her  small  and  compact  intellect  upon  whatever  she  was  en- 
gaged. It  explains,  too,  the  curious  fact  that  she  paid  no  atten- 
tion to  the  subject  of  the  article  she  had  transcribed,  which  was 
an  interview  with  the  Prioress  of  the  Convent  of  the  Sacred 
Heart.  Quite  without  malice  did  she  join  up  the  maimed  mem- 
bers of  a  split  infinitive  and  substitute  a  comma  for  a  semicolon. 
Common  people  do  not  split  infinitives  any  more  than  they  split 
hairs,  and  semi-colons  are  to  them  needless  refinements.  The 
humour  of  the  thing  was  that  Mrs.  Wilfley  did  not  notice  either 
modification  of  her  own  grammar. 

The  completion  of  the  article  brought  Minnie  to  one  o'clock, 
and  putting  on  her  hat  she  went  out,  locked  the  door,  and 
descended  into  Fleet  Street  to  get  herself  some  lunch.  To  her, 
unused  as  she  was  to  the  great  hubbub  of  the  City,  the  meal  in 
a  vast  tea-shop  was  novel,  thrilling,  stimulating.  The  "  cafe- 
habit  "  came  to  her  at  once,  naturally  and  irresistibly.  It  abol- 
ished the  messing  with  dishes  and  the  smell  of  cooking.  It 
gave  her  endless  opportunities,  too,  of  studying  men  and  women 
of  countless  types.  The  interest  was  unalloyed,  moreover,  with 
any  literary  base-metal,  for  it  did  not  occur  to  her  that  she 
might  write.  Nor  did  she  desire  very  much  to  know  all  these 
men  and  women  who  thronged  the  streets,  who  filled  the  'buses 
and  cabs  and  cafes  of  the  street.  Had  one  of  them  spoken  to 
her,  the  amused  reflectiveness  in  her  expression  would  have  van- 
ished behind  an  icy  reserve,  and  the  stranger  would  have  needed 
the  will-power  and  assurance  of  Mr.  Gilfillan  to  have  dispelled 
it. 


132  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

Towards  Mr.  Gilfillan  she  had  developed  an  interest  that  was 
a  blend  of  respect  and  curiosity.  With  her  usual  economy  of 
emotion,  and  this  is  a  common  occurrence  with  girls  of  small 
imaginative  power,  she  had  transferred  to  him  all  that  she 
liked  in  the  Tiberius  of  the  story,  and  left  him,  so  to  speak,  to 
justify  his  apotheoais.  Mr.  Gilfillan  was,  as  already  stated, 
quite  ignorant  of  his  present  rank,  finding  the  chairmanship  of 
"  Gilfillan  Filaments  Limited  "  quite  enormous  enough  without 
assuming  the  purple  of  romance.  During  the  days  previous  to 
the  grand  concert,  when  Minnie  was  busily  employed  in  putting 
letters  into  envelopes,  writing  addresses,  stamping  and  posting 
them,  her  frequent  though  brief  meetings  with  that  gentleman 
had  strengthened  in  her  mind  the  notion  that  she  enjoyed  his 
company.  Instantly  she  was  on  her  guard.  She  had  had  that 
feeling  before.  Certainly  Mr.  Gilfillan  was  the  exact  antithesis 
of  the  coal-agent's  clerk.  He  was  keen,  clever,  efficient,  un- 
trammelled by  silly  ideas.  But,  all  the  same,  she  had  had  that 
feeling  before,  and  the  thin  stratum  of  aestheticism  in  her 
make-up  induced  a  horror  of  emotional  mess  and  untidiness. 
She  had  talked  of  her  feelings  on  one  occasion  to  Mrs.  Gaynor, 
who  had  struck  out  a  good  phrase  to  describe  such  a  state  of 
affairs.  "  You  feel  all  at  loose  ends,  I  suppose,"  said  Mrs.  Gay- 
nor, and  Minnie  had  replied  that  that  was  just  it. 

"  I  suppose  Mr.  Gilfillan  makes  a  lot  of  money,"  she  had  said 
that  morning. 

For  a  fiftieth  part  of  a  second  Mrs.  Wilfley's  unwashed  eyes 
flickered  as  she  poured  hot  water  into  the  teapot. 

"  Yes,  he  makes  thousands  a  year,"  she  replied. 

"  Eh  ? "  said  Minnie,  sitting  up  straight.  "  Thousands  a 
year?     And  lives  in  Stamford  Hill?" 

That  was  Minnie's  way.  Her  clear  brain  bit  right  into  the 
heart  of  Mrs.  Wilfley's  luscious  statements  and  showed  the  rot- 
tenness of  them.  She  knew  he  couldn't  live  at  Stamford  Hill 
if  he  made  thousands  a  year.  There  lay  a  striking  difference 
between  the  two  brains.  Mrs.  Wilfley  liked  to  think  she  influ- 
enced a  man  with  thousands  a  year,  she  imagined  that  only 
people  with  huge  incomes  floated  companies,  and  she  had  the 
emotionalist's  habit  of  slipshod  statement.  Minnie,  on  the 
other  hand,  at  once  selected  from  her  scanty  knowledge  of  Mr. 
Gilfillan  the  entirely  sufficient  fact  that  he  lived  at  Stamford 
Hill, 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  133 

"  Well,"  went  on  Mrs.  Wilfley,  "  he  must  control  huge  sums 
of  money.  His  company  is  a  hundred  and  fifty  thousand,  or 
something  like  that." 

"What  is  it?" 

"  Something  to  do  with  electric  light,  I  believe.  I  don't  know 
much  about  that  sort  of  thing,  it's  not  in  my  line,  you  know. 
He's  awfully  clever,  isn't  he?" 

Minnie  was  silent. 

"  I  know  he's  awfully  interested  in  you,  my  dear." 

Another  silence.     Mrs.  Wilfley  looked  a  little  pained. 

"  He  took  the  greatest  interest  in  the  concert.  You  really 
ought  to  thank  him.     Such  a  busy  man  .  .  ." 

Minnie  clacked  her  knife  and  fork  together  and  looked 
straight  at  Mrs.  Olga  Wilfley. 

"  I  think  the  less  you  say  to  me  about  that  concert,  Mrs. 
Wrilfley,  the  better.     I'm  fed  up  with  the  concert." 

"  Some  people  are  very  difficult  to  help,"  said  the  lady,  sip- 
ping her  tea. 

14  Who  asked  for  your  help  ?  And  what  did  the  help  amount 
to  anyhow  ?  " 

Several  times  in  rapid  succession  Mrs.  Wilfley 's  eyelids  flick- 
ered. 

"  My  dear  child,  the  balance  was  handed  over " 

"  Fourteen  pounds,  I  know.  That  was  a  fat  lot  to  get  out  of 
seventy  pounds  eighteen,  wasn't  it?  It's  a  paying  business,  I 
should  think,  getting  up  concerts  for  people." 

"  I  don't  think  you  quite  realise  who  you're  talking  to,"  said 
Mrs.  Wilfley,  rising  and  going  towards  the  bedroom  door.  "  I 
can  refer  you  to  numbers  of  the  best  people " 

"  I  don't  want  you  to  do  that.  All  I  want  is  to  hear  the  last 
of  that  concert.     Mother'll  give  you  thanks  for  two." 

When  Mrs.  Wilfley  emerged  again  from  the  bedroom  she  was 
dressed  for  walking,  and  going  over  to  where  Minnie  was  sitting 
over  a  magazine,  she  stood  there  pulling  on  the  fingers  of  her 
long  white  kid  gloves.  Her  face  was  composed,  and  she  had 
captured  for  the  day  the  lustrous  yearning  look  which  was  even 
then  becoming  famous  among  the  inmates  of  rescue  homes  and 
night-shelters.  "  Nosey  Mary "  they  called  her  among  them- 
selves, which  is  a  damning  proof  of  their  depravity  and  shame- 
lessness.  Just  as  Minnie  was  beginning  to  grow  restless  under 
the  soft  insistent  sound  of  the  kid  gloves  and  the  silent  proxim- 


134  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

ity  of  the  lady,  the  latter  bent  down  suddenly  and  put  her  hand 
round  the  girl's  shoulders. 

"  My  dear,"  she  crooned,  "  you  have  a  terrible  habit  of  blaz- 
ing out  at  people,  you  know.  I'm  sure  you  are  often  sorry  for 
it  afterwards.  We  are  all  so  utterly  weak  and  despicable  at 
heart  that  we  should  not  dare  to  judge  others.  Do  you  not  feel 
that?  Sometimes  when  I  have  been  talking  to  some  poor  girl, 
trying  to  give  her  some  little  tiny  bit  of  hope,  I  have  suddenly 
broken  down  and  just  cried." 

"  You ! "  said  Minnie,  looking  up  and  putting  the  book  down. 
"Why?" 

"  Because  when  I  began  to  speak  to  her  I  felt  terribly  sorry 
for  her.  It  was  just  pity,  you  know.  Then  I  would  feel  rather 
glad  because  I  had  escaped  so  many  of  the  horrors  of  her  life. 
And  suddenly  I  felt  how  utterly  impossible  it  was  for  me  to 
really  know  about  any  one  who  was  struggling  alone  against 
evil.  I  felt  as  if  I  was  talking  to  her  on  the  telephone  hundreds 
of  miles  off  in  the  wilderness  and  all  the  while  she  needed  some 
one  to  be  close  to  her,  some  one  who  had  suffered  with  her.  I 
felt  so  weak  and  helpless;  and  do  you  know,  when  we  feel  like 
that  we  are  on  the  sure  way  to  be  really  strong  and  helpful. 
Mine  has  not  been  a  very  happy  life,  you  know,  as  the  world 
counts  happiness,  but  sometimes  I  feel  that  I  have  been  over- 
paid when  a  poor  miserable  girl  has  written  to  me  and  thanked 
me,  not  for  money,  not  for  advice,  not  for  anything  material, 
but  for  sympathy,  just  that  sudden  feeling  of  weakness  and  ig- 
norance which  made  her  see  I  was  not  doing  it  out  of  pride,  but 
out  of  love." 

For  a  space  there  was  a  silence  in  the  room  with  the  dark  oak 
rafters  and  quaint  old  lanterns.  Minnie  sat  lacing  her  fingers, 
looking  down  at  them  intently.  When  she  spoke  it  was  in  a 
quiet,  even  voice. 

"  It  seems  to  be  all  feeling  with  you,  Mrs.  Wilfley,"  she  said. 
"  I  don't  take  things  that  way  at  all.  I  suppose  I'm  selfish  or 
proud  or  something  or  other,  but  I  never  bother  with  other  peo- 
ple's affairs.  If  they  let  me  alone,  I  let  them  alone.  As  for 
helping  people,  I  can't  afford  it.  I've  got  to  make  a  living 
somehow  and  be  independent  as  soon  as  I  can.  If  I  was  rich, 
like  Mr.  Gilfillan,"  here  Minnie  smiled  a  little,  "  I  might  give 
a  lot." 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  135 

"  Oh,  it  isn't  money  that  matters,  my  dear  child.  It  is  sym- 
pathy a  broken  heart  wants,  not  money." 

"  Is  it  ?  Well,  it  seems  to  me  that  people  with  plenty  o' 
money  never  need  much  sympathy.  When  you've  got  money  you 
can  buy  anything.  It's  not  the  trouble  that  makes  you  wish 
you  were  dead  and  out  of  it,  it's  the  nag,  nag  of  being  without 
enough  cash.  I  know  what  it  is,  I  can  tell  you.  I  don't  mean 
being  poor  with  a  little  money  put  by  for  a  rainy  day,  I  mean 
having  a  rainy  day  all  the  time,  and  all  the  week's  money  ow- 
ing before  you  get  it.  It's  all  very  well  to  talk,"  here  Minnie 
rose  and  stood  by  the  window.  "  It's  all  very  well  to  talk  about 
sympathy  and  helping  others  when  you've  got  a  bit,  but  you 
don't  get  much  sympathy  when  you  owe  money.  We  never  used 
to.  Only  Mrs.  Gaynor.  I  do  believe  it  makes  no  difference  to 
her  how  poor  you  are,  but  Mrs.  Gaynor 's  all  right  herself.  She 
can  afford  it." 

"  You  will  change,  I  am  sure  of  that,  my  dear.  You  find  the 
world  hard.  Yes,  why?  Because  you  are  hard.  You  think 
every  one  is  on  the  make " 

"Well,  aren't  they?"  asked  Minnie  without  turning  round. 

"  Of  course  not !  That  is  a  horrible  idea  to  get  hold  of.  I 
know  hundreds  of  men  and  women  who  live  unselfish  lives,  who 
give  themselves  to  others  to  try  and  make  the  world  less  un- 
happy.    There  is  no  joy  like  service." 

"  I  daresay  what  you  say's  true,"  answered  Minnie.  "  What 
I  mean  is,  all  these  good  people  you  know:  are  they  worryin' 
about  the  rent?     It  makes  a  lot  of  difference,  they'd  find." 

Mrs.  Wilfley  turned  from  the  table  where  she  had  been  pour- 
ing out  a  lukewarm  cup  of  tea.  She  put  it  down  again  now 
and  sat  down. 

"  Come  and  sit  down,  my  dear." 

Minnie  came  over  unwillingly  and  leaned  against  the  table. 

"  You  talk  about  nothing  but  rent  and  money  and  things  like 
that.  My  child,  your  whole  view  is  distorted  and  wrong.  Look 
at  me.  You  think  I  know  nothing  of  these  things,  I  suppose. 
You  wouldn't  think  I  have  been  a  hospital  nurse,  would  you  ?  " 

"Were  you?"  put  in  Minnie,  looking  down  at  her. 

"Of  course  I  was.  You'll  read  all  about  it  if  you  read  my 
book.  It's  over  there.  You  see,  you  are  very  ignorant  of  life, 
Minnie,  and  when  you  blaze  out  at  people  you  ought  to  be  very 


136  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

sure  you're  quite  right.  Now  let  me  tell  you  something.  I  be- 
long to  a  profession  in  which  we  are  always  looking  for  fresh 
ideas  and  fresh  people.  It  is  a  profession  in  which  experience 
doesn't  count  for  very  much.  Some  people  I  know,  men  and 
women,  have  been  in  this  profession  for  years  and  yet  are  not 
much  good.  And  I  have  known  a  girl  who  had  hardly  any  expe- 
rience at  all  do  very  well  because  she  had  just  the  right  tempera- 
ment. My  friend  Mrs.  Worrall  is  of  great  assistance  to  me  in  my 
work  among  girls  because  she  has  the  right  temperament  to  find 
out  what  they  can  do.  Mrs.  Worrall  sent  you  to  me  because  she 
believed  you  would  be  useful  in  my  work.  But  what  I  was 
going  to  say  was  that  in  my  profession  we  are  always  struggling 
even  more  than  other  people  against  material  wants,  and  yet 
we  have  to  think  first  about  ideas  and  people.  If  I  were  to  be 
always  worrying  about  money  I  should  never  do  anything  else. 
Worry  won't  help  me." 

"  That's  what  Mrs.  Gaynor  says/'  admitted  Minnie,  but  in  a 
sceptical  tone. 

"  Of  course  she  does.  She's  one  of  us.  Mr.  Gilfillan  is  al- 
ways laughing  at  our  ideas,  but  he  really  acts  on  them  himself 
very  often,  though  of  course  he  is  on  the  make,  you  know.  So," 
concluded  Mrs.  Wilfley,  standing  up,  "  you  mustn't  run  away  with 
the  idea  that  because  you  are  a  sharp,  clever  girl  you  know  bet- 
ter than  anybody  else  how  to  run  the  world.  As  a  dear  old 
friend  of  mine  says,  '  We  all  have  our  funiosities,'  and  you 
wouldn't  believe  how  strange  that  sounds  from  him  because  he 
has  so  many  '  funiosities  '  of  his  own  that  he  never  dreams  of." 

For  some  time  after  Mrs.  Wilfley  had  sailed  out  of  her  flat  and 
down  the  stairs  into  Fleet  Street,  Minnie  Gooderich  stood  think- 
ing seriously.  She  began  to  clear  the  table  and  talk  to  her- 
self, as  was  her  habit. 

"  She's  a  coughdrop,"  she  commented  several  times.  "  I 
wonder  what  it's  all  about.  I  s'pose  people  do  get  fed  up  with 
me.  Can't  help  it.  Sharp  clever  girl,  eh?  Don't  seem  very 
sharp  and  clever  to  stick  here  washin'  up  for  her.  She  is  but- 
tery." Minnie  stopped  still  with  some  cups  and  saucers  in  her 
hands,  her  head  uplifted  as  if  listening.  "  No,"  she  said,  going 
quickly  into  the  back  room  and  through  into  a  tiny  scullery. 
"  No  fear!  I've  had  all  I  want  of  that.  I'm  goin'  through  with 
it.     I'm  goin'  to  keep  on  my  own  somehow.     Anything  but  that ! 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  187 

But  O  Lord,  I  must  keep  doin'  something  or  I  shall  go  dotty !  " 

She  began  to  wash  up,  working  with  quick,  nervous  move- 
ments, working  with  that  precision  and  economy  of  effort  which 
distinguished  everything  she  did  or  said.  One  after  another  the 
dishes  were  wiped  dry  and  polished  and  put  away.  Then  she 
went  back  and  made  the  beds,  quickly  if  not  perfectly,  folded  up 
some  stray  garments  and  laid  them  away,  and  then,  without 
pausing,  she  entered  the  front  room  again  and  took  up  Mrs. 
Wilfley's  book,  The  Licence es  of  Love. 

It  may  be  doubted  if  the  girl  understood  a  great  deal  of  this 
book,  which  dealt  with  the  lives  of  those  women  who  have  al- 
ways been  a  problem  in  European  civilisation.  Mrs.  Wilfley's 
solution  of  the  problem  may  have  been  correct  or  erroneous; 
it  matters  not  to  us.  The  fact  to  be  noted  is  that  much  of  her 
book  was  enigmatic  to  Minnie,  because  the  girl  had  no  knowl- 
edge of  the  matter  to  guide  her.  She  knew  of  girls  at  the  fac- 
tory, of  course,  who  "  did  overtime  "  as  they  called  it,  girls 
who  had  gone  for  "  trial-trips "  and  so  vanished  from  view. 
But  of  the  great  underworld,  Minnie,  having  been  born  and 
grown  up  before  popular  fiction  had  made  the  subject  peculiarly 
its  own,  before  really  popular  fiction  had  cast  off  the  trammels 
of  respectability,  knew  nothing.  She  understood  trouble  and 
misery  to  mean  lack  of  money,  for  she  could  not  go  outside  her 
experience.  The  agonies  of  soul  of  Magdalens  in  high  places 
she  could  not  feel.  She  was  a  child  of  Mammon  in  the  sense 
that  everything  translated  itself  into  cost.  Moreover,  she  had 
a  vague  subconscious  instinct,  one  might  almost  call  it,  that  when 
men  and  women  did  evil  for  money,  when  they  fought  for  their 
stands  in  the  market-place  and  paid  their  way  for  all  the  world 
like  other  people,  the  evil  receded.  These  girls  Mrs.  Wilfley 
was  so  solicitous  for  struggled  as  bravely  in  their  way  as  wait- 
resses and  retouchers  did  in  theirs;  they  had  rent  to  pay  and 
clothes  to  buy.  The  evil  of  their  lives  did  not  come  through 
to  Minnie,  and  Mrs.  Wilfley's  emotional  stress  (in  print)  left 
her  cold. 

She  put  the  book  down  at  length  and  turned  to  a  tiresome 
exercise  that  Mrs.  Wilfley  had  recommended  as  conducive  to  ac- 
curacy and  spctd. 

Now  is  the  time  for  all  Good  Men  to  come  to  the  Aid  of  the 
Party.     Over  and  over  again  she  banged  at  the  keys,  each  time 


138  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

increasing  in  speed,  and  the  drone  and  click  of  the  machine  was 
soothing  to  her  nerves.  She  was  still  at  it  when  Mrs.  Wilfley 
returned. 

"  How  do  you  like  it?  "  she  asked,  smiling  and  drawing  off 
her  gloves  quickly. 

"  It's  a  change  of  occupation,  of  course,"  replied  Minnie  as 
though  that  implied  everything.  "  I  don't  say  as  I  should  like 
a  lot  of  it,  but  it  can't  be  more  monotonous  than  dabbing  prints." 

M  Don't  forget  what  you  know  about  photography,  my  dear. 
It  may  be  useful  to  you  in  the  future.  Now  I've  got  something 
for  you  to  do.  I  have  an  article  to  write.  I  want  you  to  put 
on  your  hat  and  go  down  west  and  just  note  down  the  things 
in  the  shop  windows." 

"Everything?"  said  Minnie,  aghast. 

"  Of  course  not.  New  things  in  the  big  shops.  And  if  you 
see  a  woman  with  something  really  chic  on  you  can  make  a  note 
of  that.     You'll  want  a  note-book  and  pencil." 

"  It's  a  new  job  for  me,"  argued  the  girl. 

"  I  know.  That's  why  your  notes  will  be  of  value.  You  have 
innocence  of  eye,  as  the  artistic  people  say." 

"  But  I  shan't  know  what  they  call  some  of  the  things.  I 
haven't  any  dress-making  experience." 

"  Then  go  in  and  ask.  I'll  give  you  one  or  two  of  my  cards. 
Don't  be  afraid." 

"Oh,  I'm  not  afraid.  Don't  you  think  that,  Mrs.  Wilfley! 
What  I  don't  see  is  what  the  good  of  it  is." 

"  Worrying  again !  That  independent  spirit  of  yours  will  get 
you  into  all  sorts  of  trouble."  Mrs.  Wilfley  had  taken  off  her 
hat  and  jacket  and  now  seated  herself  at  her  table  and  opened 
her  bag.  Seeing  no  further  use  in  discussion,  Minnie  pinned  on 
her  hat,  put  the  cards  in  her  purse  and  went  out.  In  Chancery 
Lane  she  purchased  a  note-book  and  pencil  and  mounted  a  'bus 
going  west,  a  white  Kensington  'bus. 

On  the  top  of  the  'bus  sat  Anthony  Gilfillan,  deep  in  a  thick 
pamphlet  and  smoking  an  oval  cigarette. 


II 

MRS.  WILFREY  had  shown  unusual  penetration  (for 
which  we  give  her  due  credit)  in  remarking  that 
Anthony  Giltillan  teas  on  the  make. 
Difficult  and  impertinent  as  it  is,  and  futile  into 
the  bargain,  to  sum  up  our  brethren  in  one  smart  phrase,  a  jury 
of  the  average  sort  would  have  confirmed  the  verdict.  Yet, 
like  many  other  curt  judgments,  it  meant,  on  scrutiny,  nothing. 
Wg  say  of  a  millionaire  that  his  god  is  money.  Is  it?  Very 
flattering  to  ourselves,  no  doubt,  our  mediocre  selves  who  know 
nothing  of  the  man's  soul.  It  is  stated  with  some  truth  by  the 
psychologists  that  the  roots  of  a  man's  virtue  are  inaccessible 
to  us.  So  for  that  matter  are  the  roots  of  his  vices.  Often  a 
fungoid  growth,  the  mere  result  of  early  darkness  and  unusually 
rich  soil,  will  hide  from  us  the  latent  and  unlooked-for  goodwill. 
Later,  when  he  became  rich  and  powerful,  when  his  sayings 
became  quotations  beyond  the  business  world,  when  he  was 
hated  as  an  evil  influence  and  hailed  as  a  master  of  affairs,  the 
tale  of  Anthony  Gilfillan's  life  was  dotted  over  with  these  toad- 
stools of  unworthy  acts,  blots  on  his  scutcheon,  and  people  who 
were  neither  clever  enough  nor  brave  enough  to  do  likewise 
shook  their  heads.  "If  I'd  done  that,  I'd  get  into  jail,"  they 
would  say ;  or,  "  Clever  chap ;  d'you  know  how  he  got  on  ?  Why, 
some  poor  devil  or  other  —  I  forget  his  name  —  went  to  him 
with  an  invention.  .  .  .  Yes,  Stole  it!  .  .  .  Made  a  pot  o'  money 
out  of  it.  His  Knighthood,  too.  How'd  you  s'pose  he  got  that? 
Didn't  you  see  it?  Why,  Bought  it  .  .  .!"  And  so  on.  And 
all  the  while  the  man  himself  was  as  hidden  as  it  was  on  this 
autumn  day  when  he  sat  on  the  'bus  deep  in  his  pamphlet. 

The  'bus  jerked  and  started  again  as  Minnie  mounted,  and  she 
had  sat  down  beside  him  before  she  recognised  him.  Without 
looking  up  he  drew  closer  to  the  side  of  the  'bus  to  make  room 
for  her,  and  she  felt  a  curious  tingling  sensation  at  being  so 
close  to  him.     She  had  felt  it  when  in  his  presence  before  at  the 

130 


140  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

lecture  in  Mrs.  Wilfley's  rooms,  and  now  she  wondered  vaguely 
why  she  felt  like  that.  It  was  quite  different,  she  summed  up, 
quite  a  different  feeling  from  the  mere  self-satisfaction  she 
derived  from  the  attentions  of  the  coal-agent's  clerk  during  the 
first  part  of  their  courtship.  She  looked  round  and  smiled,  won- 
dering what  he  would  say  when  he  saw  her.  Her  pulses  were 
beating  quickly,  and  a  flush  spread  over  her  face  as  her  thoughts 
raced  away  into  that  spatial  vastness  which  for  some  of  us  is 
our  only  playground,  but  which  is,  alas,  like  so  many  real  play- 
grounds, vacant  and  dusty.  She  recalled  Beryl  Brentano  and 
Tiberius,  and  wondered  what  she  would  do  in  like  circumstances. 
Act  haughtily,  Minnie  surmised,  but  was  not  sure.  After  all 
he  was  not  so  very  like  Tiberius :  that  was  only  a  first  impression. 
He  was  much  more  human  in  some  things ;  he  had  a  little  daugh- 
ter, for  example.  And  she  was  not  Beryl,  not  by  several  streets 
of  houses. 

Her  mother,  had  she  seen  her  sitting  there  waiting  for  the 
man  to  look  up,  would  scarcely  have  recognised  her  daughter. 
An  unwonted  softness  had  invaded  her  face,  the  indomitably 
hard  little  face  that  set  itself  like  flint  against  the  Maple  Road 
ideals.  There  was  much  of  unsuspected  childishness  in  her  face 
now,  much  of  goodness.  It  was  like  the  bloom  on  fruit.  Touch 
it  and  it  was  gone,  mere  soilure  on  your  hands.  The  presence 
of  some  people  brushed  it  away  from  Minnie's  face  at  once. 
But  as  she  sat  there  beside  this  absorbed  magnetic  man,  her 
whole  conscious  self  was  submerged  in  that  ocean  of  feeling  in 
which  we  all  swim,  and  the  warm  currents  of  it  sent  a  thrill  of 
inexplicable  happiness  through  her  physical  frame. 

And  all  at  once,  as  he  turned  a  page,  he  glanced  up. 

"  Is  it  possible  ?  "  he  said,  as  he  withdrew  his  mind  from  the 
pamphlet.  "Well  met  indeed!  Are  you  going  far?  Why 
didn't  you  speak  ?  "     And  he  threw  away  his  cigarette. 

"  You  seemed  so  interested,"  she  answered,  shaking  hands. 
"  I  didn't  like  to  disturb  you." 

"  Rubbish !     You've  been  having  a  good  look  at  me,  I  expect." 

"  Yes,  I  have,"  she  replied. 

"  And  you  are  satisfied  ?  "  he  smiled. 

"  No,"  she  hazarded.  She  was  a  novice  in  tit-for-tat  con- 
versation, but  her  pleasure  in  it  and  her  native  acutcness  as- 
sisted her.     "  No." 

"  That's  a  cryptic  answer.     How  shall  I  take  it  ?  " 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  141 

"  Take  it  as  you  like.  I  can  always  say  I  didn't  mean  it  that 
way." 

"  Wise  girl !  I  am  going  to  take  it  to  mean  you  are  not  sat- 
isfied and  want  to  look  at  me  still  more.     Is  that  a  risky  shot?  " 

94  You  think  a  good  deal  of  yourself,  if  you  think  so.  A  cat 
may  look  at  a  king,  they  say." 

He  threw  his  head  back  and  laughed. 

"  You  are  a  most  remarkable  young  woman,"  he  said.  "  I 
said  as  much  to  Mrs.  Wilfley  when  she  told  me  how  you  dis- 
liked that  concert  business." 

"  I  dislike  it  still,"  she  answered  gravely. 

"  Who  wouldn't,  who  had  any  character  at  all  ?  I  thought 
the  whole  business  very  ill-advised  when  I  came  to  study  it,  but 
one  must  compromise  in  this  old  world.  I  have  lived  in  all 
sorts  of  places,  and  that  is  one  grain  of  wisdom  at  any  rate 
that  I  have  treasured  up.     One  must  compromise." 

"  I  don't  see  now  why  she  did  it,"  said  Minnie. 

Mr.  Gilfillan  handed  up  a  penny  to  the  conductor  to  pay  for 
Minnie's  ticket. 

"  It  is  a  species  of  advertisement  with  her,"  he  remarked  un- 
der his  arm.  "  You  see,  she  makes  her  living  in  a  way  quite 
different  from  either  you  or  me.  You,  for  example,  do  so  much 
work,  perform  so  much  duty,  and  receive  in  return  so  much 
money.  It  is  a  simple  commercial  transaction,  the  first  step 
beyond  simple  barter  or  exchange.  I,  on  the  other  hand,  have 
a  number  of  people,  whom  I  never  sec,  working  for  my  benefit. 
I  provide  them  with  wages,  pay  the  rent  and  other  expenses, 
direct  the  policy  and  receive  my  emolument  in  the  form  of  divi- 
dends." 

"  I  see,"  said  Minnie.  She  was  interested  in  the  matter  be- 
cause she  was  interested  in  him  and  he  in  her. 

"  Mrs.  Wilfley,  on  the  other  hand,  is  what  they  call  in  jour- 
nalistic parlance  a  '  free-lance.'  That  is,  she  spins  out  of  her 
head  the  stuff  she  sells.  There  is  in  her  business  no  '  good- 
will,' as  we  say  in  commerce,  except  her  own  name.  Every- 
thing which  can  assist  her  to  extend  the  knowledge  of  her  name 
and  so  increase  the  '  goodwill '  of  her  business,  she  must  be 
ready  to  do.  She  saw  a  chance,  I  suppose,  of  increasing  her 
prestige  in  North  London  by  taking  a  leading  part  in  a  charity." 

"  It's  a  funny  thing  mother  only  got  fourteen  pounds  out  of 
seventy-odd  taken,"  said  Minnie,  and  her  face  clouded  again. 


142  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

"  Twenty  per  cent  ?  Don't  you  think  that  a  business  which 
gave  fourteen  pounds'  profit  out  of  every  seventy  pounds'  worth 
of  business  done  would  be  a  pretty  good  spec?  I  do.  I  only 
hope  my  company  will  do  as  well." 

"Where's  the  rest  gone?"  asked  Minnie,  still  vague. 

"  Expenses :  rent,  lighting,  wages  of  artistes,  printing,  sta- 
tionery, postage,  fares,  telegrams,  refreshments,  gratuities.  You 
see,  all  the  various  people  who  are  employed  in  such  an  affair 
have  no  intention  of  working  for  nothing  —  they  can't  be  ex- 
pected to  do  so,  can  they?  " 

"  No,  I  suppose  not,"  admitted  the  girl.  "  It  seems  a  great 
waste  of  time  and  money  to  get  so  little  out  of  it  though." 

"  My  idea  exactly.  As  I  said,  a  most  ill-advised  affair. 
Here  is  Charing  Cross.     Where  are  you  going?  " 

She  told  him.     He  raised  his  eyebrows. 

"Do  }Tou  think  you  can  do  it?  "  he  asked. 

"  No,"  she  said  frankly,  "  I  don't.  I  think  Mrs.  Wilfley's 
making  a  mistake.  I  think  she's  making  a  mistake  in  several 
ways.     Don't  you  want  to  get  off?  "  she  said  abruptly. 

"I'll  go  through  St.  James's  Park,"  he  answered.  "Go  on. 
What  are  the  several  ways  in  which  Mrs.  Wrilfley  is  making  a 
mistake?  " 

Minnie  laughed  a  little  at  the  mimic  in  his  tone. 

"  Well,  in  the  first  place,  she  believes,  or  says  she  believes, 
I'm  not  exactly  a  fool  and  can  do  this  sort  of  thing  easy.  In 
the  second  place,  she  thinks  I  am  fool  enough  to  do  this  work 
for  her  for  twelve  shillings  a  week;  and  in  the  third  place,  she 
thinks  I'd  do  anything  rather  than  lose  the  job.  She's  wrong 
all  the  way  through." 

"  Have  you  told  her  this  ?  " 

"  No,  of  course  not.  Let  her  find  out.  Besides,  you  see, 
Mrs.  Wilfley  isn't  known  all  at  once.  She's  got  all  sorts  of 
queer  fits  and  starts.  She  was  talking  to  me  this  morning  as 
if  I  was  the  Woman  Taken  in  Adultery." 

Mr.  Gilfillan  turned  silently  to  the  Haymarket  to  hide  a 
smile. 

"Where   did  you  get  that  illustration?"  he  demanded. 

"  Oh,  there's  a  chapter  in  her  book  called  that,"  said  Minnie, 
turning  her  ticket  into  a  little  cylinder  of  paper.  "  I  was  read- 
ing it  this  morning.  I  didn't  understand  much  of  it,  but  I  re- 
membered that  bit." 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  143 

"  Well,"  said  Mr.  Gilfillan,  "  I  cannot  say  once  and  for  all 
that  you  are  right  or  wrong  in  being  so  certain  about  your  lack 
of  ability,  because  I  have  always  made  a  rule  to  believe  I  could 
do  anything  if  I  only  tried.  For  instance,  I  am  a  journalist 
at  times,  for  I  write  articles  in  technical  journals,  and  what  is 
more,  I  get  paid  for  them.  When  I  started  I  had  never  writ- 
ten anything  and  had  never  been  taught.  I  sat  down  with  the 
fixed  idea  in  my  mind  that  I  could  write.  And  I  found  I  could. 
\Vhen  I  was  asked,  two  years  ago,  to  make  a  speech  at  a  dinner, 
I  had  never  made  a  speech.  But  I  got  up  believing  firmly  I 
could  speak,  and  I  did.  That  is  my  rule  of  life.  If  fate  means 
you  to  lose,  give  him  a  good  fight  anyhow.  Do  you  remember 
Henley's  magnificent  lines: 

'  Under  the  blugeonings  of  chance 
2Iy  head  is  bloody  out  unbowed'? 

That  is  my  gospel.  What  do  you  think  of  it  ?  "  And,  prepar- 
ing to  rise,  he  turned  and  smiled  down  into  the  girl's  face.  She 
was  silent,  but  her  face  was  aglow. 

"What  are  you  doing  this  evening?  "  he  asked. 

"  Nothing." 

"Well,  my  sister  and  little  girl  are  away  at  the  seaside  just 
now,  so  if  you  are  disengaged  I  should  like  you  to  come  and 
dine  with  me  somewhere,  will  you?" 

"  I  should  like  it." 

"  What  time?     Say  seven." 

"All  right." 

"Charing  Cross  Post  Office,  eh?" 

"All  right." 

"  Then  au  revoir"  And  lifting  his  hat  he  went  down  and 
dropped  off  the  'bus. 

A  moment  later  Minnie  temporarily  recovered  her  self-pos- 
session and  found  herself  opposite  a  big  shop  in  Regent  Street. 
She  descended  hastily  and  joined  the  crowd  on  the  pavement. 
But  she  was  unable  to  form  any  clear  notion  of  the  contents  of 
the  windows.  Her  brain  was  still  humming  as  a  harpstring 
might  hum  after  the  hand  that  plucked  it  had  gone  away.  To 
dine,  to  dine,  dine,  to  dine.  So  the  thought  reverberated  through 
her  brain,  and  set  all  the  chambers  ringing.  He  was  a  man,  she 
chanted  voicelessly,  he  was  indeed  a  man.  He  would  never  finish 
head-first   in   a  brook.     He  would  not  nag  interminably  about 


144  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

some  trivial  matter.  He  was  a  man,  with  brain,  with  energy, 
with  ideas,  and  he  had  asked  her  to  dine,  to  dine.  .  .  . 

Lunch  time  passed  and  she  moved  up  and  down  in  front  of 
the  shops  unheedingly,  her  note-book  clipped  in  her  fingers  with 
her  purse,  untouched.  Now  and  again  her  slim  black  figure 
would  attract  a  man's  eyes  approvingly,  but  she  saw  nothing 
save  men  and  women  as  trees  walking,  and  the  shining  sunlight. 

And  then  about  three  o'clock,  she  awoke. 

"  Oh,  what  shall  I  do?  "  she  whispered  in  her  heart.  "  What 
shall  I  do?" 

The  honour  of  the  wage-earner,  that  honour  which  is  so  com- 
mon among  us  that  no  man  questions  it,  turned  her  face  to  the 
window  of  the  shops,  but  the  emotion  of  the  moment  still  inter- 
fered with  her  vision.  With  a  determined  effort  she  braced  up 
and  walked  to  one  of  the  great  glass  doors.  Autumn  shopping 
was  at  its  height.  The  calm,  serene  atmosphere  of  the  place 
was  soothing  and  laid  a  steady  hand  upon  that  aggressiveness 
which  always  seized  Minnie  when  she  was  nervous  and  undecided 
in  aim.  The  frock-coated  gentleman  who  approached  her  at 
•once  had  appraised  her  before  he  had  completed  his  bow.  Shop- 
lifters do  not  dress  in  plain  shabby  dresses  and  sailor-hats.  He 
was  agreeably  respectful  therefore.  What  did  Madame  desire? 
Minnie  gave  him  one  of  Mrs.  Wilfley's  cards  on  the  corner  of 
which  was  engraved  the  name  Sunday  Words.  This  was  the 
periodical  for  which  Mrs.  Wilfley  did  the  domestic  and  fashion 
notes,  she  being  neither  domestic  nor  fashionable  and  so  emi- 
nently fitted  to  give  ex-parte  opinions.  The  shop-walker,  to 
Minnie's  surprise,  seemed  prepared  for  such  emergencies.  She 
did  not  know  that  the  fashion  notes  of  Sunday  Words  M'ere  copied 
by  dozens  of  local  papers  and  provincial  weeklies  throughout  the 
kingdom,  were  sometimes  pirated  by  American  papers  of  the 
;same  type  and  then  re-pirated  by  English  weeklies  of  a  much 
higher  type.  Minnie,  of  course,  knew  nothing  whatever  about 
•the  matter,  but  the  shop-walker  did  not  know  that.  He  merely 
begged  her  to  step  this  way  and  that  way  through  the  different 
•departments  to  a  private  room  where  a  tall,  severe-looking  woman 
(dressed  in  a  gown  of  plain  faultless  black  was  watching  the 
slowly-turning  figure  of  another  woman  in  front  of  the  largest 
mirror  Minnie  had  ever  seen.  He  spoke  a  few  words  in  the 
ear  of  the  lady  in  black,  and  retired.  Minnie's  nervousness 
intensified,  for  she  was  feeling  to  her  very  bones  the  shabbiness 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  145 

and  uncouthness  of  her  attire.  Needless  agony.  In  this  great 
repository  of  purple  and  fine  linen  the  personal  appearance  of 
a  fashion-journalist  was  not  a  matter  of  trivial  moment,  it  was 
a  matter  of  no  moment  at  all.  Quite  oblivious  to  Minnie's  pres- 
ence the  woman  before  the  mirror  continued  to  turn  slowly,  emit- 
ting a  dropping  fire  of  criticism,  and  the  woman  in  black  muttered 
continually  in  a  low  refined  tone.  "  Yes,  Madame."  "  Oh,  quite 
so,  Madame."  "  Quite  impossible,  Madame,  I  agree,"  never 
taking  her  eyes  from  the  woman's  body  as  it  turned  and  turned, 
head  thrown  back,  eyes  downcast  with  an  expression  of  imperial 
disdain,  hand  raised  slightly  as  though  dismissing  some  regal 
suppliant,  a  tragic  and,  when  you  realised  the  moment,  slightly 
ridiculous  spectacle.  For  it  was  not  a  virgin  Empress  who  stood 
there,  it  was  not  even  a  great  artist  rehearsing  her  part  in  some 
decorative  drama,  it  was  simply  a  rich  man's  daughter  trying  on 
a  dress.  The  dress  itself  was  pinned  and  tacked  from  neck  to 
floor,  a  thing  of  shreds  and  patches,  thread-strewn  and  unfinished. 

"  Yes,  Madame,  I  can  loop  it  up,  right  up  to  the  armpit.  I 
understand  perfectly,  Madame.  Yes,  and  pearls  —  one  row 
right  round  the  shoulder:  exactly.  The  sleeve  will  hang  down 
close.  Yes,  to  a  point,  like  a  wing.  And  the  red  band,  you  are 
decided  on  that?  Very  narrow  I  should  suggest,  say  about 
three-eight's  of  an  inch,  stiffened  with  canvas.  Yes,  it  is  dis- 
tinctly a  conception.  No  other  colour  whatever?  Very  good, 
Madame." 

The  woman  before  the  mirror  turned  her  back  to  the  mirror 
once  more,  threw  her  head  yet  further  back,  and  took  a  last 
long  look  at  the  billowing  folds  of  the  train,  met  her  own  eyes 
for  an  instant  in  cold  scrutiny,  and  then  advanced  to  an  inner 
door.  The  woman  in  black  sprang-  swiftly  to  open  it  for  her; 
she  passed  in  and  the  door  closed. 

The  woman  in  black  now  turned  to  deal  with  Minnie.  She 
seemed  quite  as  well  apprised  of  Minnie's  needs  as  did  the  gen- 
tleman in  the  frock  coat. 

"  We  have  several  very  chic  things,"  she  said  affably,  for  even 
dressmakers  are  affable  to  those  who  provide  free  advertisements. 
"  That  was  one  of  the  best.  Cream  Mousselin-de-soie,  pear! 
embroidery  and  a  single  narrow  band  of  geranium  velours  at 
the  waist  but  higher  than  is  worn  just  at  present.  Here's  a  note 
of  it." 

She  took  a  sheet  of  paper  from  a  big  table  against  the  wall 


146  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

and  handed  it  to  Minnie.  The  table  was  covered  with  press- 
cuttings  of  designs,  dress-cuttings,  long  tangled  strips  of  ma- 
terial pinned  to  figured  slips,  needles,  pins,  stationery,  and  order- 
books.  The  modiste  took  up  a  sheaf  of  papers  similar  to  the 
one  Minnie  held  and  turned  them  over  rapidly. 

"  I  think  the  most  striking  are  here,"  she  said.  "  Did  you 
see  anything  outside  particularly  ...   ?  " 

"  A  yellow  hat,"  said  Minnie  promptly,  rather  to  her  own 
astonishment.     "  I  saw  a  yellow  hat." 

"  With  puce  simulated  wing  under  the  brim  ?  Quite  a  crea- 
tion, but  of  course  only  for  race-meetings.  That  would  not  be 
suitable  for  description  in  Sunday  Words,  would  it  ?  " 

"  Chronic,"  said  Minnie.  "  I  was  wondering  who  wore  that 
sort  of  thing." 

"  Kit- fox  is  coming  in,"  went  on  the  lady,  ignoring  such  an 
irrelevant  remark.  "  You  might  make  a  note  of  that.  Ten 
guineas  as  an  average.  Oh,  and  there  is  this."  She  held  up  a 
half-tone  print  of  an  impossibly  tall  female  encased  in  fur. 
"  This  is  tail,"  she  remarked,  "  very  classical  and  sure  to  be 
popular  in  October." 

Minnie  put  the  papers  between  the  leaves  of  her  note-book 
and  had  an  inspiration. 

"  That'll  do,"  she  said.  "  I've  got  a  lot  of  other  shows  to 
visit." 

The  customer  emerged,  dressed  in  a  smart  outdoor  suit  of 
pale  grey-green  serge,  yellow  gloves,  and  a  white  felt  hat  with 
a  raked  cock-feather.  She  was  buttoning  the  gloves  and  did 
not  look  up,  for  being  in  business  as  a  rich  man's  daughter  is 
sometimes  a  very  absorbing  occupation. 

The  modiste  opened  the  outer  door,  the  customer  passed 
through,  followed  by  Minnie. 

"  Thanks,"  the  latter  said  over  her  shoulder.     "  Good  day." 

Out  in  the  street  she  paused  for  a  moment  to  see  the  departure 
of  the  customer.  An  Irish  jaunting-car  waited  at  the  curb,  a 
sumptuous  shiny  and  silver-plated  equipage  such  as  Cavan  or 
Clare  had  never  seen,  attended  by  a  red-haired  little  groom  in 
green  coat,  white  breeches,  and  yellow-topped  boots.  He  touched 
his  hat,  leaped  into  position,  and  held  out  his  gloved  hand  for 
his  mistress's  foot.  A  little  crowd  collected,  clotted,  and  melted 
away  in  a  moment,  one  of  those  innumerable  momentary  coagu- 
lations which  are  a  feature  of  our  streets.     The  lady  held  her- 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  147 

self  rigidly  erect,  and  her  clean-cut  yet  commonplace  features 
conveyed  a  new  and  startling  impression  of  savage  authority 
and  power  as  she  raised  the  whip.  The  little  groom  ran  round, 
scrambled  up  on  the  off  side  and  assumed  the  ridiculous  attitude 
of  his  class.  The  raked  cock's  feather  on  the  lady's  hat  touched 
the  rosette  on  his  glossy  hat.  The  horse  stepped  high,  shaking 
his  silver  harness-bells,  and  they  vanished  among  the  traffic  of 
Regent  Street.     She  was  a  rich  man's  daughter. 

Minnie  stood  looking  in  that  direction  for  some  little  time, 
lost  in  thought.  She  had  no  clear  indictment  in  her  mind  against 
the  rich  man's  daughter.  Indeed,  I  think  her  attitude  was 
strictly  neutral.  "  She's  got  it,  she  can  do  what  she  likes,"  might 
express  it  succinctly.  "  When  I  get  it,  I'll  do  as  I  like,"  was  the 
corollary,  accompanied  by  gritted  teeth.  She  had,  moreover, 
the  acuteness  to  perceive  the  keen  pleasure  a  young  woman  can 
derive  from  driving  in  an  uncommon  turnout  through  West  Lon- 
don. You  drew  the  town,  people  could  see  your  crest  on  panel 
and  harness,  people  stopped  and  looked  and  "  got  to  know  you," 
as  their  hideous  j  argon  has  it,  in  course  of  time.  There  was  skill 
in  it  too.  You  had  to  know  your  business  to  drive  a  horse  like 
that  safely  through  the  traffic  of  heavy  pair-horse  vans,  swift 
hansoms,  cyclists,  and  view-obliterating  'buses.  The  rich  man's 
daughter,  I  imagine,  had  Minnie's  respect,  and  this  had  a  certain 
steadying  effect  upon  Minnie  herself.  These  moods  of  preoccu- 
pation with  another  person's  destiny  inevitably  react  in  the 
healthy  mind,  and  teach  it  something  of  itself.  Minnie  had 
nothing  of  the  late  Mr.  Gooderich's  purposeless  optimism  and 
belief  in  luck.  She  thought  the  chances  of  wealth  coming  to  her 
were  fantastically  remote,  which  is  one  reason  why  she  never 
attained  it.  Mrs.  Gaynor,  in  this  connection,  may  be  cited  as  a 
reliable  authority  when  she  said  to  Minnie: 

"  Folks  often  miss  what  they're  after  because  they  didn't  wish 
hard  enough." 

Nevertheless,  her  brief  consideration  of  life  as  it  might  appear 
to  the  rich  man's  daughter  led  her  to  sound  the  probable  springs 
of  the  woman's  happiness,  and  this  reacting,  she  found  her 
thoughts  darting  and  fluttering  round  Anthony  Gilfillan  like 
moths  round  one  of  his  highly  patented  metallic  filament  lamps. 
She  was  looking  into  one  of  those  long  narrow  panels  of  mirrors 
that  were  becoming  popular  for  shop-fronts  just  then,  and  she 
encountered  a  pair  of  rather  frightened  dark  blue  eyes,  a  face 


148  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

whose   even  pallor   was   tinged  with   one   of  her  slow  blushes. 
The  adventure  was  calling  her,  and  not  in  vain. 

She  took  out  her  note-book  and  proceeded.  An  autumn  negligS 
of  white  fleecy  wool,  with  French  blue  silk  facings  and  sash,  a 
hat  of  ecru  straw  on  which  a  young  ostrich  seemed  to  be  sitting,  a 
gown  that  Mrs.  Gaynor  would  have  called  "  a  party  dress  "  of 
blue  taffeta  with  beads  and  transparent  sleeves  —  all  these  were 
mentioned  on  a  page  of  the  note-book.  And  then  observing  a 
clock  pointing  to  four  she  realised  that  she  was  very  hungry  and 
tired.  She  was  undeniably  tired,  yet  she  had  merely  loitered 
away  the  day.  She  did  not  know  that  the  wear  and  tear  of  the 
emotions  exhausts  one's  body  and  lines  one's  face  much  faster 
than  the  work  of  a  stoker  or  a  navvy;  she  was  too  young.  She 
had  always  felt  disparagement  towards  those  girls  at  the  fac- 
tory who  had  told  her  how  "  done  up  "  they  were  on  some  days, 
they  themselves  not  understanding  the  cause  of  their  supineness. 
However,  food  was  to  be  got;  the  three  hours  to  seven  o'clock 
were  to  be  passed  somehow.  Mrs.  Wilfley  was  to  be  seen  and 
fought  with  on  the  usual  lines,  so  Minnie  climbed  once  more 
upon  a  'bus  whose  ultimate  destination  was  Peckham  via  the 
Strand. 


Ill 

THE  meeting  was  swift,  unexpected  in  detail,  and  satis- 
fyingly  spectacular.  It  did  not,  of  course,  compare 
with  an  Irish  jaunting  car  in  the  least  particular,  but 
far  surpassed  Minnie's  imagined  encounter  (he  lifting  his 
hat  genteelly  as  he  took  her  hand,  and  she  smiling  in  a  rather 
fatuous  way).  Mr.  Gilfillan,  it  happened,  did  not  do  things 
that  way.  His  agile  intellect  never  missed  the  smallest  oppor- 
tunity of  doing  a  thing  in  an  original  and  effective  manner. 
Minnie  was  standing  near  the  kerb  in  front  of  the  Post  Office 
when  a  hansom  came  up  at  full  speed  from  Whitehall,  the 
Trafalgar  Square  policeman,  noting  the  silk  hat  pushed  back, 
the  preoccupied  stare  of  the  eyes,  the  crushed  appearance  of 
the  occupant,  had  imagined  him  to  be,  if  not  in  the  Cabinet,  at 
least  an  under-secretary,  and  let  him  pass  through.  At  first 
the  girl  did  not  notice  him,  and  when  the  doors  crashed  back 
she  stood  away  to  make  room  for  the  stranger  to  alight.  He 
leaned  out,  extended  his  hand. 

"  I'm  five  minutes  late,"  he  said  with  a  smile  as  she  took 
a  deep  breath  and  stepped  in.  The  doors  crashed  together 
again,  and  half  a  dozen  pairs  of  curious  eyes  watched  the  brisk 
little  drama  from  the  sidewalk. 

"  Paoli's,"  said  Mr.  Gilfillan  to  a  massive  purplish  face  which 
gazed  down  upon  them  with  Olympian  indifference  from  the 
little  trap  door.  The  trap  fell  and  they  were  alone,  aproned 
from  the  world,  speeding  toward  a  new  mystery  called  Paoli's. 

"How  did  you  get  on  with  the  job?"  he  asked,  lighting  a 
fresli  cigarette  and  examining  a  spot  on  his  face  in  the  mirror. 
Minnie  told  him. 

"  Ah !  "  he  said.  "  I  wondered  how  that  business  was  done. 
I  see.  Though  why  the  readers  of  Sunday  Words  want  —  ah, 
well  I  see  that  too,  I  think." 

"  They're  servants  mostly,  poor  people  anyhow,  so  I  suppose 
they  fancy  themselves  a  bit  when  they  read  about  nice  things 
rich  people   wear." 

149 


150  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

"  Yes,  and  they  make  up  their  own  things  and  get  ideas  from 
the  pictures,  I  expect." 

"  Yes,  but  what  I  can't  make  out  is  what  good  that  does  Bel- 
lamy's," said  Minnie,  Bellamy's  having  been  the  shop  she  had 
visited. 

"  Oh,  undoubtedly  it  does  them  good.  It  must  do  so.  It  is 
all  advertisement.  Every  time  the  name  Bellamy  is  repeated 
in  print  or  in  speech,  their  hold  on  the  public  is  tightened.  In 
the  same  way,  I  am  paying  thousands  a  year  now  to  journals 
throughout  the  world  simply  to  repeat  my  name.  In  the  course 
of  a  year  or  two,  when  any  man  says  Gilfillan,  the  other  man 
will  say  almost  automatically  Filament.  I  intend  the  words 
Gilfillan  Filament  to  become  a  sort  of  obsession  with  mankind. 
You  cannot  take  any  isolated  case  of  advertising  and  say, 
*  There,  what  actual  profit  do  you  get  from  that?  *  You  must 
take  the  whole  thing  in  review." 

"  It  seems  to  me  that  there's  nothing  else  but  advertising  now- 
adays. And  when  you  buy  it  it  falls  to  pieces,"  remarked  Min- 
nie. "  I  know  mother  sent  ten  shillings  once  to  some  firm  in  the 
country  for  some  stuff  for  a  dress.  It  only  lasted  till  the  first 
shower.  '  Conquering-Hero '  Navy  Serge  they  called  it.  You 
ought  to  have  seen  it  when  the  rain  got  it !  " 

"  Ah,  that  is,  unavoidable.  There  has  always  been  and  always 
will  be  unscrupulous  humbugs  to  catch  the  unwary.  That  is 
no  argument  against  advertisement,  however.  You  see,  Miss 
Gooderich,  you  must  put  yourself  in  the  place  of  a  person  who 
has  something  to  sell.  It  may  be  the  finest  thing  of  its  kind 
that  ever  existed;  if  people  don't  know  of  it,  how  can  they  buy 
it?  Another  thing.  The  Great  British  Public,  on  whom  we  all 
live,  doesn't  really  know  what  it  wants.  The  natural  tendency 
of  all  communities  is  to  be  satisfied  with  what  they  have.  The 
community  says,  '  Gas  is  good  enough  for  me ! '  and  the  man 
with  a  new  burner  has  to  spend  thousands  convincing  them  that 
he  can  give  them  something  better.  The  community  with  the 
new  burner  won't  have  electric  light,  they  distrust  it,  it's  too 
newfangled.  When  they've  got  used  to  it,  I  or  some  other  man 
comes  along  with  a  new  idea  by  which  they  can  save  nine-tenths 
of  their  current  and  get  two  hundred  per  cent  more  light. 
You'd  think  they'd  jump  at  it,  wouldn't  you?  Well,  as  I  said 
just  now,  they  compel  me  to  form  a  company  of  people  who 
have  money  and  believe  in  me,  just  to  spend  that  money  like 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  151 

water  in  dinning  into  the  public's  ears  that  they  will  profit  by 
using  our  Filament.  They  don't  know  what's  good  for  them 
and  so  we  have  to  tell  them." 

This  thrilling  and  romantic  explanation  of  certain  phenomena 
of  commercial  psychology  brought  them  to  Greek  Street,  where 
Paoli's  was  situated.  The  interlude  was  useful  to  Minnie  to 
adjust  her  thoughts  to  hansom-cab  conditions,  and  she  was  grate- 
ful for  it  for  that  reason.  When  she  jumped  down  to  the  pave- 
ment of  Greek  Street  and  waited  while  Mr.  Gilfillan  satisfied  the 
purple-faced  driver,  she  was  ready  to  meet  him  on  his  own 
ground,  aggressively  feminine,  an  alluring  touch  of  malice  in 
her  eyes.     They  entered  the  ristorante. 

Paoli's  was  one  of  those  diminutive  eating-houses  which  make 
the  metropolis  endurable  to  a  cosmopolitan  of  limited  means. 
To  give  you  a  six-course  dinner  for  eighteen  pence,  a  flask  of 
excellent  last  year's  chianti  for  a  florin,  bread,  butter,  and  table- 
napkin  for  nothing,  and  the  most  cheerful  of  Milanese  to  wait  on 
you  for  whatever  you  are  pleased  to  give  her,  were  noticeable 
features  of  Paoli's  establishment.  It  is  true  that  the  food  was 
the  refuse  of  the  great  clubs  of  St.  James's  Street  and  Picca- 
dilly, you  dipped  your  knife  in  the  salt-cellar  instead  of  using  a 
spoon,  and  you  used  the  same  knife  and  fork  throughout  the  six 
courses,  exactly  as  you  would  in  Italy,  but  the  cosmopolitan 
of  limited  means  neither  knows  nor  cares  about  these  things. 
He  may  be  an  Irishman  who  lias  studied  art  in  Paris,  a  German 
who  studies  law  in  Gower  Street,  or,  like  Mr.  Gilfillan,  a  trans- 
planted Scot  who  has  engineered  in  many  lands.  Paoli's  have 
a  welcome  for  him.  Their  snowy  tablecloths  and  battered  cruets 
stand  waiting,  the  cheerful  waitresses  flit  to  and  fro,  and  many 
a  man  of  the  above  types,  looking  round  while  he  bolts  salted 
almonds  and  digs  his  fingers  into  his  crusty  roll,  has  thought 
to  himself,  "  How  homelike.  I  must  bring  the  wife."  For  Mrs. 
Paoli  sat  enthroned  at  the  desk,  rouged,  massive  of  bust,  benign. 

"  I  thought  you'd  like  this  place,"  said  Anthony  Gilfillan 
as  they  took  a  table  about  halfway  down  the  long  narrow  room. 
"  Personally,  I  prefer  it  to  those  big  pandemoniums  with  brass 
bands  and  commissionaires,  and  all  the  rest  of  it,  don't  you?" 

"I've  never  been  to  any  of  them,"  said  Minnie.  "And  it's 
no  use  asking  me  to  give  an  opinion.  I  suppose  this  is  a  foreign 
place,  isn't  it?  " 

Mr.  Gilfillan  was  studying  the  menu  which  a  freckled  French 


152  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

girl  had  dropped  between  the  knife  and  fork.  Minnie  eaught 
the  girl's  eye  for  a  moment  and  found  it  friendly.  There  lay 
its  charm,  I  suppose,  for  Paoli's  was  a  friendly  place.  Great 
bearded  men  in  evening  dress  used  to  go  there,  neglecting  the 
sublime  gloom  of  White's  and  its  multitudinous  cutlery,  the 
cheap  wine  recalling  their  strenuous  days  of  exile  and  obscurity, 
and  when  they  left,  smoking  a  cigarette,  would  drop  gold  care- 
lessly among  the  debris  of  the  meal,  as  a  sort  of  libation  to  the 
kindly  spirit  of  the  place.  Minnie  responded  at  once  to  it,  and 
laughed  sympathetically  when  Mr.  Gilfillan  addressed  the  girl 
in  rapid  but  evilly  pronounced  French,  and  the  girl  replied  in 
still  more  rapid  argot  and  stood  smiling,  her  underlip  between 
her  teeth  and  her  grey  eyes  shifting  from  one  customer  to  the 
other. 

"What  do  you  say?"  he  asked,  handing  over  the  card. 
"Shall  we  have  the  lot?" 

"  Please  don't  ask  me,"  she  said,  a  little  confused.  "  You 
know,  anything  you  say  will  do  for  me." 

"  Well."  Pie  took  the  card  back  and  examined  it  judicially. 
"What  shall  we  say,  Juliette?  Eh,  ma  mie?  Diner,  Juliette, 
et  vin  Toscane" 

"  Chianti?  Bien.  Flacon,  M'sieu? "  rippled  Juliette,  her 
hands  hovering  over  the  table.     "  Poulet  ou  canard,  M'sieu?  " 

"Chicken  or  duck?  I  think  chicken  is  safer,  eh?  Bien,  ma 
chore,  Poulet,  avec  des  pois,  des  asperges  et  du  jambon,  eh?  " 

"  Merci,  M'sieu."  And  Juliette,  her  red  heels  clicking  on  the 
hard  wood  floor,  fled  kitchenwards. 

Several  disconcerting  happenings  delayed  Minnie's  longed-for 
serenity.  There  was  the  arrival  of  a  party  of  men  at  the  next 
table,  two  of  whom  wore  evening  dress  and  the  third  was  dressed 
in  an  old  tweed  Norfolk  jacket  and  straw  hat.  Then  again 
the  hors  d*ceuvres,  a  bewildering  array  of  indigestible  rubbish 
(so  Minnie  thought  them),  gave  her  food  for  thought  if  not 
for  body.  Juliette  would  sail  up,  slap  down  a  pepper-box  and 
some  toothpicks,  smile  brilliantly,  and  whirl  round  upon  a  sedate 
Frenchman  and  his  wife,  who  tucked  their  napkins  under  their 
chins,  and  ascertain  their  views  on  the  jam  omelette.  The  mir- 
rors reflected  to  infinity  the  bizarre  advertisements  of  foreign 
table  waters,  stuffs  called  Strega,  Salubra,  Cognac,  and  the  like, 
daring  drawings  of  a  strange  race  of  women  who  had  legs  and 
(one  regretted)  did  not  mind  showing  them.     And  the  panels 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  153 

between  the  mirrors  were  filled  with  drawings  of  men  and  women 
who  knew  nothing  of  Maple  Road,  men  and  women  whose  beau- 
tiful brown  limbs  took  them  over  strange  hills,  whose  red  lips 
breathed  other  air  than  ours,  and  whose  fathomless  eyes  peered 
through  dim  haunted  forests,  and  down  the  vista  of  palaces 
where  white  peacocks  strutted,  and  ivory  girls  sat  on  golden 
thrones.  Of  course,  so  blunt  is  our  modern  sense  of  art  that 
even  cosmopolitans  of  limited  means,  even  a  conventional  girl 
like  Minnie  took  all  this  as  mere  decorative  drivel.  "  These 
bally  artists!"  Or  if  appreciative:  "That's  clever,  eh? 
Rather  fussy  all  those  snakes,  don't  you  think?  Good  motif 
yes,  but  Lord,  man!  you  can  do  anything  with  peacocks,  and 
it's  all  repetition."  And  so  on.  Anthony  Gilfillan,  who  had 
reached  a  conclusion  on  this  as  on  every  other  subject  under  the 
sun,  could  have  explained  it  very  clearly.  But  just  now  he  was 
explaining  something  else  clearly. 

"  I  am  not  a  domestic  animal,"  he  was  saying  over  his  soup, 
"  though  that  may  sound  strange  from  a  man  who  has  a  small 
daughter  at  home.  I  draw  on  all  sorts  and  conditions  of  people 
for  my  existence,  and  when  a  man  does  that  he  cannot  be  called 
domestic." 

Minnie  put  down  her  spoon  and  wiped  her  mouth. 

"Is  it  a  game?"  she  asked  bluntly.  Anthony  Gilfillan 
pulled  up  short  his  intellectual  chariot,  took  out  the  horses  and 
put  them  to  bed. 

"  It's  the  most  absorbing  game  in  the  world,  making  love 
to  everybody  and  everything  in  it,"  he  said  over  the  rim  of  his 
glass.  "  Here's  to  my  next  affair !  "  And  he  drank,  his  eyes 
fixed  on  hers  and  twinkling. 

"  Now  I  don't  know  quite  what  you  mean,"  she  answered, 
lifting  her  glass  and  holding  it  near  her  lips.  "  Do  you  mean 
you're  interested  in  everything,  including  me?" 

He  nodded.     "  Just  that,"  he  said. 

"  And  will  it  be  any  good  to  me?  "  she  went  on,  still  holding 
the  glass  up.  For  a  moment  their  eyes  met.  For  a  moment  all 
the  nice  analysis  of  his  mind  was  dimmed  and  softened,  all  the 
calculation  and  antagonism  of  hers  was  effaced.  Their  eyes 
met;  a  spark  passed. 

"  It  will  be  the  time  of  your  life  for  you,"  he  said  gravely. 
"  If  you  are  the  girl  I  think  you.     Now  will  you  drink?  " 

And  putting  the  glass  to  her  lips,  she  drank. 


154  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

It  was  her  first  glass  of  wine,  and  the  beginning,  in  a  way, 
of  the  time  of  her  life.  For  from  this  on,  she  showed  less 
of  that  intractable  materialism  which  had  been  expressed  in  her 
intense  preoccupation  with  money.  From  this  on,  even  in  her 
days  of  degeneration,  when  Anthony  Gilfillan  had  passed  from 
her  life  and  gone  on  his  upward  triumphant  way,  she  retained 
something  of  the  joyance  of  that  first  red  wine.  It  discovered 
in  her  a  pagan  carelessness,  all  too  transitory,  which  Maple 
Road  had  had  no  power  to  lure  into  view. 

The  sharp  tang  of  the  wine  whetted  her  appetite,  and  she 
ate  the  fish,  the  rissole,  and  the  chicken  with  increasing  freedom 
and  zest. 

"  I  like  this  sort  of  thing,"  she  said,  reaching  for  the  massive 
pot  of  French  mustard.  "  This  is  one  of  the  things  I've  always 
wanted  to  go  in  for." 

She  began  to  tell  him  of  some  of  the  things  she  wanted  to 
go  in  for,  of  Mrs.  Gaynor  and  her  sententious  sayings,  of  Mrs. 
Wilfley  and  her  curious  compound  of  altruism,  selfishness,  clever- 
ness, and  purblind  idiocy. 

"  She's  always  taking  me  in  a  fresh  place,"  Minnie  told  him. 
"  This  evening,  when  I  got  back  and  asked  her  if  I'd  got  enough, 
she  said,  '  Oh,  damn  Sunday  Words.*  I  told  her  straight  she 
wasn't  goin'  to  damn  me,  and  she  got  off  the  sofa  where  she'd 
been  lying  and  put  her  hands  on  my  shoulders.  It  does  make 
me  wild,  that  sort  of  thing." 

"  And  what  did  she  say?  "  asked  Mr.  Gilfillan. 
"  Ask  me  something  easier  to  start  with !  A  lot  about  how 
upset  her  nerves  were,  and  she  didn't  always  have  command 
over  herself.  And  then,  after  she'd  lain  down  again  —  fetch 
her  fur  slippers  and  take  her  shoes  off!  What  beats  me,"  con- 
tinued Minnie,  "  is  how  she  gets  me  to  do  it.  I  didn't  feel  like 
taking  her  shoes  off.  I  felt  a  good  deal  more  like  smacking  her 
face." 

"  She  certainly  has  a  personality,"  agreed  Anthony. 
"Personality!     I'll  give  her  credit  for  this,  that  she  can  do 
the  creeping  Jesus  turn  better  than  anybody  else  I've  ever  seen. 
And  we  had  several  holy-willies  up  at  the  factory." 

Mr.  Gilfillan  did  not  reply  in  words,  but  his  expression  showed 
he  was  interested  in  Minnie's  view-point.  She  looked  round 
hastily  at  the  three  at  the  next  table,  who  were  deep  in  their 
own  concerns,  put  her  elbows  on  the  table  and  her  chin  in  her 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  155 

hands.     "  I  haven't  said  anything  wrong,  have  I  ?  "  she  asked. 
He  shook  his  head. 

"  When  I  met  you  on  the  stairs,  you  know,"  she  continued, 
"  when  I  first  asked  you  " —  he  nodded  — "  if  Mrs.  Wilfley  was 
a  bit  cracked,  you  laughed  and  said  no  she  wasn't.     Didn't  you?  " 

He  nodded  again,  pouring  out  more  wine. 

"  Well,  in  a  way  you  were  right,  I  s'pose,  but  for  all  that 
she's  funny.  Why  has  she  taken  such  a  fancy  to  me?  She 
knows  heaps  o'  people.  They  were  coming  in  all  day  yester- 
day." 

"  Oh,  that  is  a  matter  that  can  never  be  threshed  out  by  talk- 
ing. When  you  come  to  think  it  out  we  always  want  to  give  a 
false  reason  for  our  likes  and  dislikes  except  the  one  case  of 
man  and  girl  who  fall  in  love.  For  instance,  a  man  likes  another 
man  and  he  explains  it  by  saying  they  have  similar  tastes.  A 
girl  likes  another  girl  and  puts  it  down  to  their  common  ideas  in 
dress  and  books  or  games.  A  boy  likes  another  boy  and  is  not 
even  allowed  to  explain  it  at  all,  the  attraction  is  so  objection- 
able. Now  all  this  is  due  to  misconception.  Each  one  of  us 
has  an  attraction  for  certain  other  persons  irrespective  of  sex, 
age,  or  race.  I  believe  that  even  when  there  is  intense  friend- 
ship between  the  members  of  the  same  family  it  is  due  to  the 
mysterious  attraction  which  is  called  love,  affection,  palship, 
affinity,  and  all  the  rest  of  it.     You  can  understand?  " 

Minnie,  sipping  her  wine,  her  third  glass,  smiled  but  shook 
her  head. 

"  Well,  you've  got  some  idea  of  what  we  mean  by  mag- 
netism?" She  nodded.  "Very  good.  Certain  dead  things,  or 
things  we  call  dead,  have  a  curious  attraction  for  other  things, 
just  as  —  but  can  you  imagine  what  I  mean  by  chemical  affin- 
ity ?  "     Again  she  nodded. 

"  I  did  chemistry  when  I  was  at  school,"  she  said. 

"  Better  still.  Don't  keep  on  telling  me  you  don't  under- 
stand these  things.  You  are  better  equipped  for  learning  than 
a  dozen  Mrs.  Wilfleys.  Just  as,  I  was  saying,  certain  chemical 
bodies  and  compounds  have  a  mysterious  affinity  for  other  bodies. 
Sometimes  the  attraction  is  slow  yet  sure,  sometimes  it  is  vio- 
lently sudden,  as  an  explosion.  And  it's  just  the  same  with 
people,  only  we  don't  know  enough  about  people  to  say  what  will 
happen  when  they  meet.  Sometimes  it  is  just  repulsion,  some- 
times slow  attraction,  and  sometimes  a  violent  explosion.     And 


156  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

it's  often  the  case  when  they  attract  each  other  most  violently 
that  you  get  the  most  violent  explosion." 

"  That's  your  idea,  is  it  ?  "  she  said,  marking  the  tablecloth 
with  her  finger-nail.  "  As  it  happens,  I  haven't  any  affinity,  as 
you  call  it,  for  Mrs.  Wilfley." 

"Did  I  say  you  had?  I  dare  say,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  that 
you  hardly  know  yourself  well  enough  yet  to  decide  who  or 
what  you  like.  Mrs.  Wilfley,  on  the  other  hand,  has  a  certain 
amount  of  experience  of  the  world  which " 

"  Oh,  bother  her,"  interrupted  Minnie  brusquely.  "  Let's  talk 
about  somebody  else.  Talk  about  yourself,  will  you?  I'm  not 
—  interested  in  her  peculiar  ideas." 

"  You  won't  be  bored  ?  It  used  to  be  a  bad  habit  of  mine, 
when  I  was  a  young  chap,  to  talk  about  myself." 

"  No,  I  won't  be  bored.  I  like  to  hear  about  people  who 
do  things." 

And  he  began  to  tell  her.  He  took  her  back  to  his  child- 
hood, a  childhood  spent  on  the  road  when  his  father,  a  boot- 
maker, tramped  southward  from  his  Fifeshire  home  to  London, 
finally  taking  a  tiny  shop  in  Stoke  Newington  when  Stoke  New- 
ington  was  surrounded  by  green  fields.  He  told  her  of  his  early 
penury,  when  he  tramped  at  dawn  to  an  engineering  works  in 
East  London,  down  by  Thames  side,  to  his  long  day's  work, 
and  tramped  home  again  at  night  worn  out  in  body  and  mind. 
He  told  her  how  he  toiled  by  smoky  lamplight,  how  he  plodded 
through  the  dark  ill-lit  streets,  how  a  dream  came  to  him  of 
a  City  of  Light,  where  night  was  like  day,  and  how  he  held  that 
dream  through  years  of  bitter  struggle.  He  told  her  of  his  first 
fruitless  strivings  to  get  his  knowledge  of  electricity,  when  books 
were  dear  and  polytechnics  only  just  beginning;  how,  when  he 
had  risen  to  be  a  leading  hand,  he  had  been  sent  away  to  China 
to  assist  in  putting  up  some  machinery,  and  thereby  saved  a 
hundred  pounds.  He  told  her  how  he  had  come  home,  working 
his  passage  on  an  old  tramp  steamer,  a  wheezy  box  of  corrup- 
tion, a  common  sailor  before  the  mast,  how  he  walked  the  London 
streets  looking  for  a  job,  so  that  he  might  save  his  capital  for 
his  scheme.  He  told  her  how  he  had  met  the  woman  he  married, 
his  landlady's  daughter,  how  he  had  lost  his  job  the  day  after 
he  was  married,  and  the  ensuing  bickerings  of  his  mother-in-law. 
He  told  her  how  the  mother-in-law  had  died  suddenly  and  left 
him  with  a  sick  wife  and  baby  and  a  houseful  of  lodgers  to  look 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  157 

after.  How  he  had  taken  off  his  coat  and  set  to  work  at  keep- 
ing a  lodging-house  in  grim  earnest,  how  he  had  succeeded,  tak- 
ing the  next  house  and  working  that  too,  finally  selling  the  busi- 
ness for  three  hundred  pounds.  Then  he  told  her  of  his  wife's 
death  of  pleurisy  and  the  addition  of  the  hundred  pounds  of 
insurance  money  to  his  slowly  accumulating  hoard.  Then  came 
his  sister  into  the  story,  a  sweet-tempered  girl  who  had  never 
met  her  affinity  and  who  came  to  live  with  him  and  mother  the 
little  girl  while  he  went  out  into  the  world  again.  For  he  had 
never  given  up  his  dream  of  a  City  of  Light,  studying  French 
and  German  that  he  might  be  apprised  of  all  the  science  of 
Europe,  even  groping  after  the  perfect  stuff  he  believed  was 
somewhere  in  the  world.  He  told  how  he  had  gone  out  to 
Buenos  Ayres,  then  a  sprawling,  untidy  city  of  crime,  a  sink 
where  flowed  all  the  dregs  and  refuse  of  humanity,  a  place 
where  a  dark  street  meant  a  knife-stab  and  every  ditch  floated 
a  corpse.  Of  his  lonely  life  out  there,  first  a  driver  on  the  new 
railway,  then  water  clerk  to  a  Polish  merchant  who  was  coining 
money  in  various  obscure  ways.  Then  came  his  turn  of  fortune, 
when  he  met  a  mining  engineer  who  wanted  a  manager  on  a 
new  mine;  of  his  hermit  life  in  the  mountains,  master  of  hun- 
dreds of  polyglot  desperadoes.  But  it  was  good  money  he  was 
earning  then,  and  the  sister  in  London  received  half  of  it  every 
quarter,  until  she  begged  him  to  come  home.  But  he  did  not 
come  home.  He  had  found  something  in  the  mines,  something 
his  long  hours  of  research  among  dry  German  books  of  science 
told  him  was  worth  looking  into.  And  look  into  it  he  did,  with 
eyes  that  blazed  with  a  furious  passion  for  knowledge,  with  acid 
and  battery  and  tiny  forge  he  looked  into  it  until  he  saw  the 
thing  he  sought,  the  thing  he  had  meant  to  find.  Then  came  the 
time  for  action.  He  came  home  and  began  afresh,  learning  step 
by  step  the  tortuous  ways  of  finance,  floating  a  small  company  to 
get  the  capital  to  purchase  the  options  on  the  areas  where  he 
knew  he  could  get  the  precious  stuff  he  had  found.  It  had  been 
a  stiff  fight,  the  business  of  convincing  a  few  Englishmen  that 
he  held  the  secret  of  mighty  wealth,  but  he  had  done  it,  living 
almost  from  hand  to  mouth,  borrowing  here,  borrowing  there, 
sinking  all  his  tiny  savings  into  the  venture,  risking  everything 
and  luring  men  by  his  gift  of  speech  against  their  cooler  judg- 
ment. It  was  all,  he  reiterated,  a  matter  of  personality.  If 
men  saw  you  were  in  dead  earnest,  if  they  felt  you  believed  in 


158  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

yourself,  they  would  do  the  most  extraordinary  things.  One 
man,  a  dour  and  cautious  Scotsman,  had  sold  Consols  to  invest 
with  him.  Another  had  done  something  even  more  reckless  for 
an  Englishman,  he  had  sold  houses  and  bought  shares.  As  a 
rule,  he  said,  an  Englishman  would  not  sell  houses  to  secure 
an  option  on  Paradise.  And  then,  when  he  had  given  lectures, 
had  written  article  after  article,  had  fought  single-handed  against 
the  non-metallic  filament  clique,  he  had  promoted  his  international 
company,  had  travelled  all  over  Europe,  over  Germany,  France, 
Spain,  and  the  Low  Countries,  seeking  out  men  of  capital  to 
watch  his  interests  in  their  native  lands,  men  of  brains  ready 
to  manufacture  when  he  gave  the  word.  Now  it  was  all  done, 
the  company  was  an  accomplished  fact,  shares  were  being  bought 
even  by  investors,  by  brokers  and  directors  of  big  electrical  con- 
cerns, the  underwriters  were  sanguine  and  financial  editors  were 
asking  for  particulars.  He  was  safe  now  to  a  certain  extent, 
and  yet,  he  admitted,  he  regarded  this  as  only  the  beginning  of 
his  career.  She  opened  her  eyes  at  this  rather,  but  he  repeated 
that  it  was,  in  his  opinion,  only  the  beginning. 

"Why?"  she  asked,  as  she  stirred  her  coffee.  "You'll  have 
bags  of  money  now,  I  s'pose.  Surely  you  don't  want  to  go  all 
through  it  again?" 

"  Money  ?  "  he  said,  his  eyes  strained  with  the  long  recital. 
"Money!  I'm  not  doing  this  just  for  money.  It's  something 
quite  different  I'm  after.  No  man  could  have  done  what  I've 
done  just  for  money." 

"Of  course  it  means  a  good  position,"  she  admitted  a  little 
doubtfully. 

He  turned  to  call  for  his  bill  and  to  hide  a  look  of  disappoint- 
ment which  he  could  not  help  crossing  his  face. 

"  When  I  first  came  to  London  from  the  mines,"  he  said, 
turning  to  Minnie  again,  "  I  began  a  book  which  I  shall  call 
Success,  by  a  Successful  Man.  Well,  in  that  book  I  am  not  even 
mentioning  money.  I  am  of  the  opinion  that  the  man  who 
regards  riches  as  success  is  damned.  It  is  not  even  power  or 
fame,  '  position '  as  you  call  it,  because  when  I  began  that  book 
I  had  neither.  Money  and  power  and  position  are  only  the 
outward  signs  of  what  a  man  is.  The  rich  fool,  the  titled  ass, 
have  no  interest  for  me.  It  is  the  man  with  Ideas  who  has  my 
love  and  respect.  Ideas  are  the  prime  mover  of  this  world  we 
live  in;  without  them  we  are  mere  masses  of  inert  ineptitude." 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  159 

"  Has  a  woman  got  to  have  ideas  to  get  your  —  respect?  "  she 
asked  gravely. 

He  was  paying  his  bill,  and  she  watched  him  carefully  count- 
ing the  change  left  from  his  sovereign. 

"  A  woman  ? "  he  repeated  abstractedly,  slipping  a  shilling 
under  his  plate.  "  A  woman !  Let  us  get  out  of  here  and  go 
to  a  music-hall,  and  I'll  tell  you  what  a  woman  must  have." 

"  I  should  like  to  know,"  she  said  as  he  opened  the  door. 


IV 

DURING  the  few  minutes  while  the  hansom  was  whirl- 
ing them  towards  Leicester  Square,  their  brains  hum- 
ming with  wine,  coffee,  and  the  motion  through  the 
glittering  streets,  they  did  not  speak.  He  was  tak- 
ing her  to  the  Empire,  another  haunt  of  the  cosmopolitan  of 
limited  means.  The  girl  was  excited  more  than  she  knew  by  the 
story  Anthony  Gilfillan  had  told  her.  Something  within  her 
responded  to  the  indomitable  will  of  the  man.  Pride  in  knowing 
him  and  being  his  confidant,  pride  in  his  winning  battle  with  dul- 
ness  and  inertness,  pride  engendered  by  the  mere  swift  motion 
of  the  cab;  these  were  the  motifs  of  her  exaltation  as  she  jumped, 
almost  into  his  arms,  at  the  entrance. 

Men  and  women,  some  in  evening  dress,  were  going  up  the 
great  gilded  staircases  with  them,  solitary  men  of  distinguished 
appearance,  men  carelessly  dressed  and  smoking  pipes,  young 
men  in  groups,  exquisites  smoking  cigars  and  laughing  uproar- 
iously at  some  inane  smoking-room  jest.  There  were  solitary 
women,  vociferously  attired,  making  their  way  up  to  the  prome- 
nades, women  of  undeniable  beauty  and  grace  who  lived  the 
strenuous  lives  of  West-End  courtesans.  These  scanned  Minnie 
with  a  glance  that  seemed  never  to  pause,  yet  which  saw  every- 
thing, from  her  sailor  hat  to  her  worn  low-heeled  shoes.  And 
when  they  pushed  through  the  doors  into  the  great  gilded  audi- 
torium, Minnie  saw  yet  more  women  of  this  type  moving  slowly 
to  and  fro,  leaning  on  the  backs  of  the  seats,  passing  into  the 
lounges,  a  ceaselessly  moving  kaleidoscope  of  women. 

Then  went  to  seats  near  the  front  of  the  circle,  and  Minnie 
found  herself  gazing  for  the  first  time  in  her  life  at  a  ballet. 
For  a  while  she  sat  silent,  stupefied  by  the  blaze  of  colour,  the 
intricacy  of  the  movements,  the  sensuousness  of  the  music. 

"  A  ballet,"  he  replied  to  her  vague  query.  "  You  see,  there 
are  no  words,  you  know.  Everything  is  expressed  by  gestures 
and  movements  of  the  body  and  limbs.  I  am  sorry  we  missed 
the  beginning  of  it." 

"What's  it  about?"  she  whispered  timidly. 

160 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  161 

"  They  call  it "  he  looked  at  the  programme  in  his  hand, 

m  Parthenia,  and  it  seems  to  be  a  sort  of  review  of  Woman 
throughout  the  ages.  This  is  a  duel,  I  think.  Yes,  you  see, 
they  draw." 

The  scene  was  the  illumined  court  of  a  castle  of  old  Italy. 
In  and  out.  of  the  many  portals  there  danced  fantastic  figures, 
on  balcony  and  terrace  cooed  lovers,  in  silk  and  velvet,  singing 
a  sweet  minor  love-song  to  the  lilt  of  the  viol  and  the  soul- 
piercing  scream  of  the  flute.  In  the  foreground  two  men  stood 
confronting  one  another  with  long  daggers,  swaying  to  and  fro, 
advancing  and  retreating,  their  faces  drawn  with  agony,  the 
while  a  bevy  of  fair  women  stood  and  watched.  One  of  the 
men  was  clad  in  the  absurd  garments  of  a  mediaeval  jester  and 
poetaster,  those  poor  devils  with  a  knack  for  repartee  and  sting- 
ing verse  who  followed  a  ducal  court  as  boys  turn  cart-wheels 
behind  a  char-a-banc,  and  his  mask,  just  flung  aside,  grinned 
from  the  stones  where  it  lay.  His  adversary  stood  stiffly  angular 
and  stark,  a  silhouette  in  grim  black,  his  sardonic  features 
writhen  and  set,  his  dagger  flashing  in  the  many-coloured  lights. 
And  as  they  met  thus,  a  woman  among  those  who  watched,  a 
woman  superb  in  body  and  face,  whose  dark  hair  was  a  mid- 
night of  starry  gems,  on  whose  alabaster  breast  there  blazed  a 
cross  of  diamonds,  came  towards  them  with  light  step  and 
rhythmic  motion,  indicating  in  the  subtle  hieroglyphs  of  her 
art  woman's  hot  passion  and  fearful  joy  in  bloodshed.  In  lan- 
guorous measure  the  music  swept  on,  the  fantastic  figures  in 
their  quaint  garbings  flitted  in  and  out  among  the  fairy  lights, 
the  daggers  darted  to  and  fro,  as  the  assailants  stabbed  and 
stabbed  until  at  length,  soft  thuddings  of  the  drums  heralding 
a  change  of  motive,  the  black  phantom  sprang  and  struck,  and 
the  merry-andrew  in  his  gay-coloured  dress  staggered  and  fell 
dead.  And  then  the  music  in  crepitating  crescendos  held  the 
audience  steady  on  the  crest  of  the  emotional  wave  while  the 
woman,  the  Parthenia  of  the  ages,  flung  herself  in  wild  abandon 
upon  the  victor  and  received  his  dagger  in  her  breast. 

As  the  curtain  fell  and  the  music  crashed  and  thundered  and 
the  audience  clapped  louder  and  louder,  Minnie  found  herself 
withdrawing  her  hand  in  some  confusion  from  Anthony's,  whither 
it  had  fluttered  in  the  excitement  of  the  moment.  The  dull  red 
colour  slowly  flooded  her  face  and  neck  as  she  sat  back  in  her 
seat  and  waited  for  him  to  speak  and  break  the  spell. 


162  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

But  for  a  space,  he  did  not  speak.  He  himself  had  been  some- 
what carried  away  by  the  magic  of  theatric  art,  inured  as  he  was 
to  Wagner  and  the  intensity  of  Spanish-Italian  opera.  The 
dramatic  anticlimax,  the  cruel  contrast  between  the  ensemble  and 
the  episode,  the  fidelity  to  the  primitive  passion  of  humanity 
of  it,  had  gone  home,  and  he  was  silent.  He  sat  there  in  his 
favourite  crushed  attitude,  his  deep  eyes  staring  moodily  at  the 
figures  on  the  curtain,  unconscious  of  the  girl  at  his  side.  A 
movement  of  her  shoulder  where  it  touched  his  roused  him. 

"  There,  in  part,"  he  remarked,  "  is  what  I  think  a  woman 
must  be."  A  memory  of  the  lodging-house  keeper's  daughter 
flitted  before  him  for  a  moment,  but  he  ignored  it  and  con- 
tinued: M  There  too  is  what  many  women  are,  evil  in  life,  yet 
redeeming  everything  in  death.  Parthenia!  H'm!  The  man 
who  wrote  this  thing  out  has  brains.  What  d'you  think  ?  "  he 
added  suddenly,  rousing  still  more  and  taking  her  hand  again. 
"  What  do  you  think  —  of  it  all  ?  " 

And  she,  with  softened  features  downcast  and  the  slowly  deep- 
ening colour  flooding  her  body,  said  nothing  in  reply,  for  it  was 
one  of  the  few  moments  in  her  life  when  she  thought  nothing, 
only  felt. 

"  You're  not  bored  ?  You're  glad  you  came  ? "  he  asked 
quickly. 

"  Rather ! "  she  answered  in  a  quick  breathless  whisper. 
"  Don't  —  don't  hold  my  hand,  please." 

But  he  held  it,  and  the  curtain  rising  as  the  lights  dimmed, 
continued  to  hold  it  for  some  time.  The  new  scene  was  a  Fete 
Champetre,  such  as  you  see  in  Antoine  Watteau's  "  Prince  of 
Court  Painters."  But  it  was  Watteau  in  movement,  Watteau 
interlaced  with  light  music  and  that  wonderful  thing  which  is 
neither  movement  nor  music  nor  colour  —  the  play  of  emotion 
on  the  human  face.  To  show  folly  was  the  artist's  intention 
here  it  seemed,  and  to  provide  a  way  of  gradual  descent  from 
the  high  emotion  of  the  previous  adventure.  For  here  woman 
was  soft  and  of  a  sugary  pinkness,  she  sat  upon  the  mossy 
banks  while  satined  young  gentlemen  bent  in  adoration  before 
her.  Through  the  glades  of  the  great  green  forest  the  sullen 
red  of  the  chateau  roof  could  be  seen  glowing,  boys  and  girls  in 
tinsel  dresses  pursued  one  another  with  gilded  darts,  the  pink 
arms  of  the  ladies  twined  picturesquely  about  the  necks  of  the 
satined  young  gentlemen,  who  were  resigning  themselves  to  a 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  163 

future  of  endless  caress,  when  the  clear  cry  of  a  horn  tore  across 
the  gossamer  tissue  of  the  music,  and  the  king  entered  with  his 
foresters  and  gentlemen.  And  there  came  the  change  as  this 
king  of  theirs,  in  his  feathered  hat  and  laced  shirt  and  diamond 
shoe-buckles  came  swaggering  by.  Each  lady,  springing  to  her 
feet,  made  her  deep  obeisance  to  his  majesty,  and  majesty,  offer- 
ing his  hand  to  kiss,  signified  by  a  gesture  that  he  would  accept 
her  company.  And  as  he  passed  into  the  forest  again  towards 
the  red-roofed  chateau,  he  was  surrounded  by  the  fair  false  crea- 
tures who  had  smiled  and  languished  with  the  satined  young 
gentlemen  so  short  a  time  ago.  And  the  pretty  effeminate  affair 
came  to  an  end  with  soft  lamenting  music  as  the  children  pelted 
the  dolorous  satined  youths  with  their  gilded  darts  and  tinsel 
balls. 

Instinctively  his  hold  of  her  hand  had  loosened  as  they  watched 
this  ballet  of  artificial  and  false  sentiment.  The  mind  some- 
times reacts  very  swiftly  to  external  stimulus.  If  he  had  not 
let  her  hand  slip  away  she  would  have  read  into  the  retention 
some  of  the  insincerity  of  the  scene  before  them.  And  he  would 
have  thought  her  a  little  common  if  she  had  left  her  hand  there 
indefinitely,  as  common  as  if  she  had  snatched  it  from  his  grasp 
at  the  first.  The  grossest  of  men  and  women,  however  dense 
and  obdurate  in  response  to  eye  and  voice,  are  marvellously 
sensitive  to  touch.  It  is  a  circuit  of  infinitesimal  resistance,  yet 
capable  of  carrying  currents  of  prodigious  volume  and  pressure. 
Not  for  nothing  is  the  hand-clasp,  the  shoulder-touch,  the  waist- 
girdling  arm,  the  kiss,  held  by  us  to  be  potent  factors  of  drama. 
Physical  touch  is  indeed  the  coarsest,  yet  at  times  the  subtlest, 
method  of  communication  betwixt  soul  and  soul. 

"  Do  you  like  it  ?  "  he  asked.  "  Is  it  like  anything  that  you 
had  imagined  ?  " 

"  I'd  never  thought  what  it  would  be  like,"  she  answered, 
smiling.  "  I  like  it  though.  It  takes  you  out  of  yourself,  doesn't 
it?" 

"  That  is  the  intention.  We  come  here  to  get  away  from 
ourselves,  our  ordinary  office-worn  selves,  and  see  some  of  the 
light  and  colour  of  life.  For  myself  I  like  this  place,  and  I  like 
the  ballet.  For  you  mustn't  imagine  you  can  go  anywhere  in 
London  and  find  things  like  this."  He  indicated  the  stage. 
"  Most  of  these  ideas  come  from  the  Continent,  where  ideas 
are  more  common  than   in  England.     The  people  who  live  in 


164  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

the  suburbs,  now,  would  think  all  this  very  immoral,  wouldn't 
they?" 

"  I  suppose  it  is,"  said  Minnie  soberly. 

"  Indeed  it  is  nothing  of  the  sort.  It  is  just  what  you  bring 
to  it  and  no  more.  Art  by  itself  can  only  produce  art.  When 
the  sun  shines  on  a  swamp  and  breeds  disease,  you  don't  blame 
the  sun,  do  you  ?  Well,  it  is  j  ust  the  same  with  this  sort  of  thing. 
Because  some  people  abuse  Art,  that  is  no  reason  why  we  should 
not  enjoy  it." 

"  Then  you'd  do  this  ?  come  here,  anyway  ?  You  think  reli- 
gious people,  and  people  like  Mrs.  Wilfley,  are  wrong?  " 

"  Mrs.  WTilfley?"  he  queried.  "  WThy  do  you  couple  her  with 
religious  people  ?  " 

"  Why,  would  she  come  here  ?  " 

"  Just  as  often  as  she  can  get  some  one  to  take  her,"  he  replied, 
with  a  slight  smile. 

M  But  she  writes  for  religious  papers.  That  book  of  hers  is 
full  of  religious  ideas." 

"  Yes,  but  .  .  .  You  don't  understand,  I  suppose.  People 
can't  be  labelled,  my  dear  girl.     Give  yourself  a  label,  now." 

"Me?" 

"  Yes.  I  have  here  in  my  pocket,  let  us  suppose,  a  lot  of 
labels.  You  must  choose  one.  Religious,  Proud,  Humble, 
Moral,  Immoral,  Careless,  Strict,  and  so  on.  Which  one  would 
you  pin  on  yourself  ?  " 

Minnie  knit  her  brows.  The  curtain  was  up  again  and  a 
white  clown,  his  eyes  and  mouth  crimsoned,  was  busy  with  his 
patter.  She  felt  the  force  of  her  companion's  argument,  but 
he  could  not  go  far  enough  to  apply  the  argument  to  every  one 
she  knew.  The  natural  indolence  of  the  human  mind,  together 
with  its  natural  cattishness,  confirms  the  habit  of  labelling  people 
and  makes  it  irresistible. 

"  Mind,  a  label  need  not  be  a  libel,"  Anthony  put  in,  and 
she  nodded  and  went  on  thinking. 

"  It's  not  so  easy  done,"  she  decided.  "  I  suppose  it's  be- 
cause we  know  too  much  about  ourselves." 

"  Partly.  Also  because  we  are  too  close  to  ourselves  to  sort 
ourselves  out.  But  what  you  will  find,  if  you  keep  your  eyes 
open,  is  that  labels  are  of  no  use.  You  must  meet  each  person 
as  something  unique  in  the  world." 

"  Oh,  there's  a  lot  alike,"  she  insisted. 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  165 

"  To  you." 

"  Really." 

"  You  will  find  your  mistake." 

"Does  it  matter?" 

"  Ah !  "  He  patted  his  knee  softly.  "  You  are  a  strange 
mixture.     I  don't  wonder  you  hesitated  to  label  yourself." 

"  What  label  would  you  give  a  girl  like  me?  "  she  asked. 

"Well,  you  see,  you  wouldn't  take  any  joy  in  watching  two 
men  fight  for  you,  would  you  ?  " 

She  shook  her  head  slowly. 

"  Nor  would  you  run  away  from  me  if  a  King  or  a  Grand 
Duke  took  a  fancy  to  you?  "  he  persisted. 

She  looked  at  him  narrowly  for  a  moment,  then  dropped  her 
eyes  towards  her  hands.     He  laughed  softly. 

"  What  label  should  I  give  you  ?  Who  can  say  ?  You  are 
unique,  with  a  uniqueness  that  responds  to  my  own,  and  there 
is  the  charm.  Shall  we  go  out,  or  would  you  rather  see  the  rest 
of  the  show?  " 

"  As  you  like.  I've  had  enough  if  you  have.  It's  rather  hot 
here." 

They  rose  and  walked  slowly  past  the  banks  of  faces  watch- 
ing the  Clown,  faces  set  in  a  smile  of  good-natured  tolerance, 
breaking  into  ripples  of  laughter  when  he  made  his  points. 
They  walked  through  the  slow-moving  procession  of  the  prom- 
enade to  the  exit,  and  Minnie's  eyes  were  busy. 

"  What  are  all  those  girls?  "  she  asked  as  they  went  down  the 
staircase.     "Just  walking  about  like  that?" 

They  were  out  in  the  street  before  he  answered. 

"  Don't  you  know?  " 

She  bent  her  head  forward  in  a  quick  way  she  had  and  peered 
at  him. 

"  Oh !  "  she  said,  and  made  no  further  remark.  They  walked 
on  each  busy  with  thoughts,  eacli  trying  to  recapture  a  certain 
mood  which"  the  departure  had  banished.  She  had  developed 
enormously  in  the  last  three  hours,  her  range  of  emotion  had 
doubled,  and  she  felt  as  though  she  were  standing  in  front  of 
a  door  waiting  for  it  to  be  opened.  And  he,  who  had  opened 
many  doors,  sometimes  with  a  touch,  sometimes  with  a  sledge- 
hammer, Mas  pausing  as  if  in  irresolution,  his  hand  on  the  latch. 
He  glanced  at  her. 

She   was    walking   with   her   head   raised   slightly,   her   small 


166  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

finely  moulded  chin  thrust  out.  Had  she  been  merely  preco- 
ciously coy  she  would  have  had  her  eyes  bent  on  the  pavement. 
So  they  walked  on  under  the  stars  that  looked  down  on  the 
multitudinous  uproar  of  the  great  city,  two  souls  among  millions, 
waiting  for  that  supreme  moment  that  comes,  we  know  not  when, 
"  like  a  thief  in  the  night,"  when  our  lips  are  touched  with  the 
divine  flame  and  our  hearts  burn  within  us.  Terrible  and  sub- 
lime thought,  that  every  moment  is  supreme  for  some  man  and 
woman,  every  hour  the  apotheosis  of  some  passion!  Who  can 
remain  unawed  by  this  colossal  pageant  of  human  love?  Who 
can  doubt  again  the  divinity  of  his  kind  if  this  vision  have 
been  vouchsafed  to  him? 

But  the  moment  was  not  yet.  Through  Chandos  Street  up 
through  the  narrow  winding  Strand,  the  Strand  we  strive  in 
vain  to  visualise,  now  it  is  gone,  they  walked  through  the  press 
of  people  streaming  homeward  from  the  theatres.  The  night 
was  noisy  with  wheels  and  hoofs,  whistles  and  laughter,  and  the 
raucous  yelps  of  newsboys.  *  Grave  News  from  Pretoria  "  was 
the  burden  of  the  last,  Pretoria  where  an  old  man  sat  at  a  council 
board,  an  ominous  enigma.  Strange  to  say,  Anthony  Gilfillan 
did  not  buy  a  paper;  he  was  occupied  with  other  things.  There 
was  a  lull  in  the  roar  when  they  reached  the  Law  Courts,  only 
the  lumbering  'buses  and  scurrying  hansoms  interfered  with  the 
solemnity  of  the  night.  They  looked  up  at  the  great  gold  face 
of  the  clock,  and  as  they  looked  the  hour  of  eleven  tolled.  The 
eleventh  hour!  A  lad  hot  from  Fleet  Street  rushed  past  them 
at  top  speed,  his  poster  bearing  the  words  "At  the  Eleventh, 
Hour/' 

They  turned  into  the  dark  entrance  to  the  Inn.  The  gates 
were  closed,  the  girl  noted  in  dismay  and  laid  hold  of  his  arm. 
But  he,  knowing  the  custom  of  the  place,  jangled  the  bell,  and 
they  stood,  dwarfed  among  the  giant  shadows,  till  the  night 
porter  opened  to  them.  An  old  withered  man  he  was,  bent 
and  oblivious,  a  remnant  of  City  wreckage  washed  into  this  quiet 
nook  each  night,  to  open  to  late-comers  and  patrol  the  dark 
quadrangle. 

She  turned  to  Anthony,  but  he  touched  her  gently. 

"  Just  to  the  door,"  he  whispered,  and  they  went  on  through 
the  chapel  archway  and  across  the  cobbles  to  her  door. 

"  Here,"  she  said.     "  No  more,  please." 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  167 

He  put  his  arm  about  her,  holding  her  face  up  to  his  in  the 
darkness. 

"  What  is  it  —  what  is  it?  "  she  whispered  hoarsely,  not  know- 
ing what  she  said. 

"  Here  —  you  remember?  —  we  met,"  he  answered,  and  kissed 
her. 


WHEN  a  girl  is  in  love,  when  she  wakes  in  the 
morning  with  a  thrill  of  unreasonable  happiness, 
the  material  effects,  trifling  though  they  be  com- 
pared with  the  emotional  cataclysm  itself,  are  apt 
to  prove  trying  to  third  persons  of  normal  and  limited  perception. 
If  she  be  a  maid,  things  of  worldly  import,  things  like  beds  and 
salt-cellars,  the  corners  of  window-panes  and  the  wicks  of  lamps, 
slip  through  her  memory  like  ashes  through  a  sieve.  If  a  mis- 
tress, she  has  a  wider  range  of  catastrophe  and  generally  uses 
it  to  the  full.  In  either  case,  she  presents  to  the  third  person 
a  spectacle  of  tragic  incompetence  and  irreclaimable  futility. 
Mrs.  Wilfley,  whose  descriptive  powers  drew  largely  from  an 
apparently  inexhaustible  stock  of  cliches,  had  said  once  that  it 
was  "  very  beautiful  to  watch  Love  dawning  in  young  hearts," 
that  one  felt  instinctively  (she  meant  intuitively),  "  that  one 
had  not  lived  utterly  in  vain,  if  one  had  been  privileged,  even 
in  a  trifling  way,  to  unobtrusively  assist  some  shy  lover  to  the 
temple  of  Hymen." 

Perhaps  because  Minnie  was  not  shy,  perhaps  because  her 
previous  efforts  in  this  direction  had  been  chiefly  imaginary, 
Mrs.  Wilfley's  language  did  not  fit  the  situation  during  break- 
fast. That  blend  of  calculation  and  sentiment,  honesty  and 
obliquity,  fluency  and  ignorance,  which  eventually  lifted  her  to 
eminence  in  journalism  did  not  choke  the  development  of  fem- 
inine curiosity.  She  had  been  informed  with  disconcerting 
brevity,  that  Minnie  was  going  out  with  Mr.  Gilfillan.  Her 
desire  to  learn  how  the  evening  had  been  passed  might  have 
been  satisfied  in  peace  and  quietness  and  had  abstained  from  a 
certain  patronage,  which  arose  from  her  conception  of  herself 
as  an  intellectual.  She  conceived  herself  as  unbending  to  take 
an  interest  in  the  child.  To  her  pain  and  mortification,  the 
child  behaved  unfilially,  blew  up  in  fact,  and  refused  details. 
"  I  don't  see,"  said  the  child  after  the  explosion,  wandering 

168 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  169 

as  she  spoke  into  a  dreamland  of  ineffable  vagueness,  "  I  don't 
see  —  what  it's  got  —  to  do  —  with  you,  with  anybody." 

"  You  are  very  brusque"  said  the  lady,  retreating  into  cliche. 

"Eh?     What's  that?"  asked  the  ehild  dreamily. 

"  To  be  plain,  it  means  rude,"  was  the  nettled  reply,  as  Mrs. 
Wilfley  looked  into  the  teapot.  "  And  quite  apart  from  that, 
it's  ridiculous  to  make  a  secret  of  it."  Mrs.  Wilfley  shook  her- 
self as  though  to  shake  off  the  contagion  of  the  girl's  mood. 
"  Ridiculous!  Tony  will  tell  me  all  about  it.  He's  a  dear  old 
friend  of  mine.     Tells  me  all  his  affairs." 

Minnie  brought  her  gaze  back  to  the  realities  of  life  and 
rested  it  upon  Mrs.  Wilfley. 

"  Then  there's  no  need  for  me  to  say  anything  about  it," 
remarked  the  girl,  and  rose  from  the  table.  She  saw  Mrs.  Wilfley 
gathering  herself  together  for  a  spring,  so  to  say,  a  spring  which 
generally  landed  her  with  a  splash  in  a  pool  of  sentiment,  and 
Minnie  dreaded  the  drenching. 

"  What  is  it  to-day?"  she  asked  in  a  matter-of-fact  tone. 
"  Give  me  something  to  type.  I  get  sick  of  that  line  about  com- 
ing to  the  aid  of  the  party." 

Mrs.  Wilfley,  switched  away  from  the  pool,  took  the  chance 
of  peace  with  alacrity. 

"  Here  is  my  interview  with  Lady  Gophir.  Do  you  think  you 
could  make  it  out?  It's  rather  abbreviated,  you  know.  W 
means  '  who '  or  '  which '  according  to  the  sense."  Here  she 
showed  Minnie  a  sheaf  of  pages  torn  from  a  reporter's  note- 
book. "  And  I've  just  scribbled  in  my  impressions.  This  is  the 
beginning,"  showing  the  last  sheet  but  one,  "  and  this  is  the 
end."     And  she  held  up  the  first. 

Minnie  examined  the  pages  without  enthusiasm. 

"  You  can  improve  it  if  you  care  to  try,"  Mrs.  Wilfley  said 
brightly,  as  she  left  the  room  to  dress.  "  I  was  too  exhausted 
last  night  to  do  anything  with  it." 

"Anything  else?"  asked  Minnie,  possibly  in  irony.  Even 
she  could  see  a  hard  day's  work  deciphering  the  interview,  to 
say  nothing  of  the  proposed  improvement,  to  which  no  doubt 
Mrs.  Wilfley's  work  was  susceptible. 

When  Mrs.  Wilfley  was  gone,  after  trembling  for  a  moment 
on  the  verge  of  heart-to-heart  monologues,  Minnie  sat  in  front 
of  the  typewriter,  her  chin  on  her  hands,  thinking,  and,  as  was 
her  habit,  talking  to  herself.     Her  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  square 


170  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

of  blue  sky  visible  where  the  top  of  the  window  was  open,  a 
square  of  blue  sky  invaded  at  the  corner  by  the  grey  beautiful 
roof  of  the  Record  Office.  It  was  a  bright,  blustering  autumn 
day,  a  day  to  call  one  out  to  the  wind-swept  country  roads  where 
horse-chestnuts  were  falling  in  showers  and  blackberries  shone 
like  jet  beneath  their  leaves.  No  day  to  sit  in  a  chair  puzzling 
at  some  other  person's  hasty  scrawls.  Who  was  Lady  Gophir, 
that  her  unhealthy  preoccupation  with  fallen  women  should  be 
of  interest  to  any  one? 

"  I  wish  it  was  tea-time,"  Minnie  said  to  herself  softly.  "  Oh, 
I  wish  it  was  tea-time ! "  She  paused,  and  her  eyes  that  were 
watching  a  white  cloud  crossing  the  blue  square  glinted  with 
laughter.  "  So  Tony  tells  her  all  his  love-affairs,  does  he  ? 
What  a  baby  in  long  clothes  she  thinks  I  am!  Every  girl  libs 
like  that  when  she  wants  to  cut  you  out.  I  must  ask  him  some 
time  on  Saturday.  Let's  see.  This  is  Thursday,  to-morrow's 
Friday ;  two  days  to  get  through.     Oh,  well !  " 

She  rose,  seized  the  manuscript  and  dropped  into  Mrs.  Wil- 
fley's  Chesterfield,  frowning  to  concentrate  her  mind  on  the  writ- 
ing. But  it  was  of  no  use.  Her  mind  refused  to  concentrate. 
A  mental  view  of  Charing  Cross  Post  Office  at  six  o'clock  con- 
tinually interposed  itself  between  her  eyes  and  the  paper.  And 
then  there  was  a  step  on  the  stair  and  a  gentle  knock  at  the 
door.  She  stepped  to  the  door  and  opened  it  to  a  young  man 
with  a  fair  moustache  and  a  high  double  collar.  He  hesitated  in 
the  manner  of  one  who  meets  a  stranger  unexpectedly. 

"  Er  —  Mrs.  Wilfley  —  is  she  in  ?  " 

"  Just  gone  out." 

"  Well,  I  called  about  a  little  matter  —  p'raps  you  can  deal 
with  it."  He  took  a  long  envelope  out  of  his  breast  pocket, 
drew  forth  a  strip  of  typed  paper  and  began. 

"  Come  in,"  said  Minnie,  and  he  did  so. 

"  It's  on  business,  I  s'pose,"  she  added. 

"  That's  so. ,  You  see,"  he  put  down  his  hat  on  a  chair  and 
showed  her  the  long  strip,  °  it's  this  thing  she  done  for  us  for 
Reaver's  Stomach  Mixture.  It's  all  right  except  it  don't  go  into 
details  enough.  We  want  more  medical  terms,  you  understand. 
That's  what  we  want,  more  medical  terms,  more  realism." 

"  Oh,"  said  Minnie  sapiently.     "  I  see.     I'll  tell  her." 

"  F'rinstance,"  went  on  the  young  man.  "  This  bit  'ere," 
he  indicated  the  bit  with  his  pencil,  "  it  wants  expandin*.     She 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  171 

might  make  another  par  out  o'  that,  I  reckon.     Somethink  about 
the  gastric  juices  and  the  parenchyma.     See?" 

"Oh,  yes,  I  see,"  said  Minnie  again.     "Anything  else?" 

"  Yes.  This  'ere,"  he  indicated  another  passage  lower  down. 
"  Now  that's  a  bit  over  people's  'eads,  that  is.  You  can't  put 
that  on  the  back  of  toilet  rolls,  you  can't  reelly." 

"  Back  of  what?  "  said  Minnie,  forgetting  herself. 

"  Well,  I  know  it  ain't  the  sort  of  thing  to  discuss  with  a 
lady,  but,  you  see,  Mrs.  Wilfley  she's  doin'  the  job  and  we  can't 
let  it  stand  as  it  is.  I've  made  a  note  of  it  'ere,  see?  A  bit 
more  popular  like,  more  snap  to  it." 

"  Anything  else  ?  " 

"  You  want  ter  get  rid  o'  me,  I  can  see  that,"  he  replied, 
quizzing.     "  Busy?  " 

"  Yes,  rather." 

"  Oh,  I  see.  Well,  that's  all.  If  you'll  just  tell  Mrs.  Wilfley 
and  ask  her  to  let  us  'ave  it  by  Monday,  will  you?  Nice  little 
place  she's  got  here.  Just  suit  me.  'Andy  for  the  business. 
You  'ere  for  some  time,  I  s'pose  ?  " 

"  Very  likely." 

"  Well.  P'raps  we'll  see  more  of  each  other.  What's  on  to- 
night? Anything  special?  I'm  on  most  all  free  lists,  y'  know. 
Care  for  a  run  roun'  the  Tiv'li?  " 

Minnie  regarded  him  with  composure.  She  was  admirably 
adapted  in  temperament  and  experience  to  deal  with  him.  His 
was  a  type  that  she  knew  well. 

"  You  are  rapid  ?  "  she  remarked,  almost  as  though  in  admira- 
tion for  his  unexampled  celerity. 

"  Yes,  it's  a  'abit.  See  a  chance  o'  doin'  a  bit  o'  business, 
I'm  on  it  like  a  bird.  Same  with  the  ladies.  Always  ask,  is  my 
motter;  they  can't  eat  you.  As  a  rule,  y'  know,  ladies  take  it 
as  it's  meant  —  kindly." 

"Mrs.   Wilfley,  does  she ?" 

"Oh,  no!  She's  an  auth'ress,  yer  see.  Besides,  she  knows 
the  guvner.     I  always  keep  off  the  grass  —  good  policy." 

"  Oh,  she  knows  the  guvner,  does  she  ?  Does  she  go  out  with 
him?" 

He  opened  his  eyes  and  blew  out  his  cheeks. 

"You  bet!"  he  said  slowly.  "Why,  didn't  you  know  that? 
'E's  away  just  now,  you  see,  on  the  Continen*.  Any  time  you 
care  to  look  roun'  for  a  cup  o'  tea ! "     He  took  out  a  card  and 


172  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

gave  it  to  her,  a  card  giving  an  address  in  Whitefriar's  Street. 
She  took  it  and  put  it  with  the  strip  of  paper. 

"  All  right/'  she  said.     "  I'll  tell  her." 

He  looked  at  her,  the  expression  on  his  common  smart  face 
changing  from  easy  familiarity  to  guarded  indecision.  His 
speech  lost  its  careless  trip  and  grew  official  again. 

"  Of  course,  anything  I  may  say's  in  confidence  between 
friends,  I  'ope?"  He  looked  at  his  watch.  "Well,  I  must  be 
off.  Got  to  see  a  man  at  Shep'ard's  Bush  at  twelve."  He  took 
his  hat  and  smiled  at  her  doggishly.  "  So  I'll  leave  the  lovely 
lady  in  her  lonely  tower,  eh  ?  " 

He  made  an  abortive  effort  to  shake  hands,  but  she  did  not 
move  until  he  had  reached  the  door.  She  stood  there  for  a  mo- 
ment as  he  went  down  the  stairs,  and  saw  him  pause  at  the  bend, 
look  up,  smile  doggishly  again,  hesitate  as  though  he  might 
return,  and  finally  disappear.  She  closed  the  door  and  went 
over  to  her  work  again. 

It  was  very  mysterious  to  her,  and  she  decided  she  must  ask 
Anthony.  She  had  an  idea  that  he  knew  a  good  deal  more 
about  Mrs.  Wilfley  than  Mrs.  Wilfley  knew  about  him.  She 
had  never  reflected  that  advertisements  did  not  write  them- 
selves. That  Mrs.  Wilfley  did  this  sort  of  work  seemed,  for  all 
that,  strange. 

"  Reaver's  Stomach  Mixture ! "  she  repeated  to  herself,  her 
lips  curling  a  little.  Mrs.  Wilfley's  enthusiasm  for  this  pro- 
prietary quack  medicine  was  extreme,  to  judge  by  her  eulogy  on 
the  strip.  In  her  opinion  it  was,  next  to  Magna  Charta  and  the 
English  Constitution,  the  most  precious  element  of  national  life. 
You  felt,  on  reading  her  burning  words,  that  if  some  one  died 
in  defence  of  Reaver's  Stomach  Mixture,  Mrs.  Wilfley  would 
not  have  been  surprised.  Nor  would  she.  She  would  have 
promptly  interested  herself  in  a  memorial  to  the  hero. 

*  Frederick  the  Great  once  said"  so  ran  the  opening  passage, 
"  that  an  army  was  like  a  snake,  it  travelled  on  its  stomach. 
Thiif  is  as  true  of  civilians  as  of  soldiers,  as  true  of  the  Battle  of 
Life  as  of  the  Battle  of  Trafalgar.  How  true  it  is  only  those 
know  who  have  dropped  behind  in  the  march  and  are  losing  heart 
for  the  struggle.  Why  is  this?  .  .  .  See  how  insidious  are  the 
means  by  which  the  Foul  Spectre  Disease  makes  his  way  into  the 
Fortress  of  the  Soul.  .  .  .  Even  when  the  enemy  is  in  full  pot' 
session,  the  wretched  victim  is  unaware  of  his  condition.*' 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  173 

Minnie  read  the  advertisement  through  and  laid  it  on  the 
desk  by  the  typewriter.  The  humour  of  the  thing  did  not  strike 
her.  She  had  not  troubled  to  think  who  wrote  advertisements, 
and,  now  that  she  knew,  she  dismissed  the  matter  from  her  mind. 
It  was  of  minor  importance.  As  far  as  she  knew  she  had  neither 
Gastric  Catarrh,  Gastric  Colic,  Incipient  Cancer,  nor  Gravel. 
Reaver's  Mixture  was  irrelevant.  "  Are  your  Nerves  worn  to 
rags?  "  chanted  Mrs.  Wilfley  in  fat  capitals  at  the  head  of  one 
paragraph;  but  Minnie  felt  no  response,  no  desire  to  throw  her- 
self unreservedly  upon  Messrs.  Reaver's  hands  and  try  the  effi- 
cacy of  a  trial  bottle  at  one  shilling  and  three  halfpence.  She 
took  up  the  interview  with  Lady  Gophir  again.  Did  Lady 
Gophir  take  Reaver's  Stomach  Mixture?  she  wondered.  Was  it 
part  of  the  great  scheme  for  reclaiming  Magdalens  to  dose  them 
with  that  Golden  Elixir?  Certainly  she  must  ask  Anthony  Gil- 
fillan  some  questions.  And  when  Minnie  came  to  that  conclusion 
for  the  tenth  time  in  the  course  of  an  hour,  she  smiled  and  forgot 
the  interview.  There  was  a  more  interesting  interview  to  pon- 
der over,  an  interview  that  would  begin  by  Charing  Cross  Post 
Office  at  six,  and  she  sat  for  an  hour  dreaming. 

Was  she  mad  enough  to  believe  that  Anthony  Gilfillan,  a  man 
who  was  on  the  eve  of  making  a  large  fortune,  would  marry  her? 
Was  she  besotted  enougli  with  pride  to  figure  herself  as  mistress 
of  a  houseful  of  servants,  stepmother  to  a  girl  at  a  boarding 
school,  the  equal  of  other  financiers'  wives? 

To  tell  the  truth  she  was  not.  She  was  a  young  girl  for 
whom  marriage  had  no  intrinsic  allurement.  Nor  had  she  an 
exaggerated  opinion  of  her  sway  over  men.  She  was  not  a  fool 
or  an  idiot,  and  she  would  have  been  one  or  the  other  if  she 
had  been  bashful  and  amazed  because  Anthony  had  kissed  her. 
His  attitude  might  possibly  be  enigmatic,  but  she  knew  her  own 
feelings  well  enough,  though  she  lacked  the  ability  to  analyse 
them.  His  intentions  were  part  of  him,  and  therefore  acceptable 
to  her.  His  dethronement  from  the  imperial  chair  of  Tiberius 
had  not  degraded  him  to  the  level  of  a  common  man.  He  was 
still  of  the  royal  Llood,  and  therefore  entitled  to  dispose  of  her 
future. 

She  closed  her  eyes,  leaning  back  in  the  scat,  and  gave  herself 
up  to  the  genuine  pleasure  of  anticipation.  To-night  would  be 
happiness  certainly,  with  talk  of  many  things,  including  Mrs. 
Wilfley,  but  Saturday  would  be  crucial.     He  had  mentioned  that 


174  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

he  always  spent  the  week-end  out  of  town.  He  was,  he  said, 
one  of  the  inventors  of  the  week-end  omt  of  town.  He  had  told 
her  it  was  delightful  for  him  to  get  back  on  Monday  to  the  brac- 
ing air  of  the  Metropolis  after  the  Sunday  stagnation.  She  had 
a  tingling  sensation  of  terror  and  pleasure  blended  as  she  thought 
of  Saturday.  Her  mind  evaded  again  and  again  the  question, 
"  What  will  you  do  ?  "  She  quieted  it  by  trying  to  think  what 
he  was  doing  at  that  moment,  and  the  logical  counter-problem 
roused  her.  What  was  she  doing?  Nothing.  After  all,  she 
was  supposed  to  do  as  she  was  told  if  she  wanted  to  be  paid. 
She  took  up  a  sheet  of  paper,  seated  herself  at  the  desk  and 
began  to  translate  the  interview,  page  one. 

Lady  Gophir,  it  appeared,  lived  in  Mount  Street,  where  Mrs. 
Wilfley  had  seen  her,  "  seated  in  her  dainty  pink  boudoir  which 
was  a  perfect  bower  of  flowers,  from  clusters  of  cream  roses  to 
great  sprays  of  stephanotis,  all  from  the  magnificent  conserva- 
tories in  Herefordshire.  Lady  Gophir  has  them  sent  up  specially 
every  day.  '  I  could  not  live  without  flowers,'  she  told  me  with 
a  smile  as  she  deftly  arranged  a  great  Persian  bowl  of  yellow 
asters." 

In  short,  Lady  Gophir  was  experienced  in  interviews,  and 
told  Mrs.  Wilfley,  whom  she  suspected  of  vulgarity,  just  what 
that  lady  desired.  They  then  warmed  to  their  subject,  which 
was  Lady  Gophir's  projected  Home  of  Reclamation  to  be  built 
on  some  unprofitable  land  in  a  desolate  part  of  Essex,  where  a 
distant  view  of  the  North  Sea  would  compensate  the  inmates  for 
the  surging  tide  of  Piccadilly.  All  the  best  people,  so  Mrs. 
Wilfley  learned,  were  warmly  interested  in  it.  One  might  won- 
der why?  Plain  good  food  and  clothing  would  be  given,  or 
rather  loaned,  the  refuges.  Lady  Gophir  almost  shuddered  as 
she  said  she  dreaded  pauperising  them.  Surely  their  lives  were 
sufficiently  evil  and  unhappy  without  a  stranger,  even  a  friendly 
stranger,  pauperising  them.  Here  followed  an  almost  illegible 
reference  to  panem  et  circenses,  of  which  Minnie  made  a  hopeless 
muddle.  Anthony  Gilfillan,  whom  she  interrogated  on  the  sub- 
ject during  the  week-end,  told  her  it  meant  "  Bred  in  Piccadilly 
Circus,"  but  his  chuckle  told  her  he  was  making  a  joke  at  Mrs. 
Wilfley 's  expense,  and  she  let  it  go  at  that.  An  hour  passed  in 
this  way,  and  Minnie  looked  up  to  find  the  quaint  little  copper 
clock  pointing  to  lunch-time  and  the  breakfast  dishes  still  un- 
washed. 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  175 

"  Can't  do  both,"  she  muttered,  and  fell  again  to  work. 

At  two  o'clock  Mrs.  Wilfley  was  still  out,  but  the  interview  was 
fairly  coherent.  Rather  proud  of  such  sustained  labour,  Minnie 
put  on  her  hat  and  was  going  out  to  get  some  lunch,  when  she 
heard  some  one  scampering  up  the  stairs.  It  was  a  telegraph 
boy,  and  he  came  right  up  past  the  ecclesiastical  architect's  door 
on  the  right. 

"Gooderieh?"  he  said  to  Minnie  as  she  stood  withdrawing 
the  key. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  and  took  it. 

"  Reply  paid,"  said  the  boy. 

She  opened  the  door  again  and  shut  it,  looking  round  the 
room  in  a  scared  way  she  had  when  a  new  experience  assailed 
her.     It  was  her  first  telegram. 

"  Meet  Westminster  Office  three  —  urgent,  reply 

Gilfillan/' 

The  white  reply  form  fluttered  to  the  floor  as  she  stood  reading 
the  message.  She  picked  it  up  and  spread  it  out  on  a  corner 
of  the  breakfast-table.  Taking  a  pencil  she  wrote  her  answer 
to 

*  Filament  London 

Coming,  Minnie" 

and  opened  the  door. 

"How  do  you  get  to  Westminster  Bridge?"  she  asked  the 
boy. 

"  'Bus  or  Underground,"  he  replied,  putting  the  telegram  in 
his  wallet. 

"  How  long  does  it  take  ?  " 

"  Quart'  of  'n  'our,"  he  chirped,  and  clattered  down  again, 
whistling. 

It  was  ten  minutes  past  two.  Minnie  followed  the  boy  down, 
left  the  key  at  the  porter's  lodge,  and  went  out  into  the  roar  of 
Fleet  Street.  She  would  have  a  little  lunch  first,  she  decided, 
as  there  was  plenty  of  time,  so  she  turned  into  an  A.B.C.  and  sat 
down. 

Eating  her  scone  and  butter  and  drinking  her  tea,  she  sat 
turning  over  various  solutions  of  the  new  position.  She  took 
the  card  he  had  given  her  the  previous  evening  from  her  purse. 


176 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 


THE  GILFILLAN  FILAMENT 
Mr.  ANTHONY  GILFILLAN 


Filament 
London' 


82  Old  Queen  St. 

Westminster,  S.  W. 


He  had  told  her  that  it  was  close  to  the  bridge,  and  now  she 
was  to  go  there  and  see  him.  Two  or  three  times  when  the  cup 
was  near  her  lips  she  set  it  down  again,  as  she  grasped  the  sig- 
nificance of  the  fact  that  she  was  going  there  to  see  him.  It 
would  be  an  irrevocable  step  forward,  this  meeting  in  the  mid- 
dle of  the  afternoon. 

She  was  glad  she  had  gone  to  work  on  that  interview.  She 
wouldn't  have  liked  the  telegram  to  have  found  her  in  a  lack- 
adaisical fit.  And  then  as  she  sat  in  the  glow  of  this  beautiful 
thought,  a  sudden  possibility  swept  over  her  like  an  icy  wind. 
Suppose  something  had  happened  that  it  was  all  over,  that  his 
wife  had  been  found  to  be  still  alive,  had  come  home  and  claimed 
him,  that  he  had  lost  all  his  money.  .  .  . 

For  a  moment  she  sat  still  looking  straight  before  her,  wait- 
ing for  her  native  common  sense  to  rise  up  and  push  the  cold 
fear  gently  back  outside.  If  any  of  these  things  had  happened, 
was  it  likely  he  would  wire  for  her  to  go  to  the  office  to  meet 
him?  Was  it  likely?  Already  she  had  enough  of  the  free-wit 
current  in  the  world  to  know  that  in  such  a  case  she  would 
have  gone  to  Charing  Cross  Post  Office,  at  six,  and  simply  — 
waited  in  vain.  In  old  stories,  when  the  devil  took  people  they 
were  wont  to  vanish,  which  demonstrates  the  sound  psychology 
of  the  old  story-teller.  In  modern  life,  especially  modern  com- 
mercial life,  when  people  go  to  the  devil,  they  also  vanish,  and 
we  hear  of  them  no  more;  we,  that  is,  who  have  been  in  merely 
social  contact  with  them.  So  slowly  but  surely,  Minnie  re- 
gained her  previous  condition  of  sanguine  expectancy,  and  fin- 
ished her  lunch  with  a  piece  of  Russian  pastry,  the  latter  indi- 
cating the  genesis  of  a  reckless  mood.  After  viewing  the  tele- 
gram from  all  points  of  her  compass,  she  found  herself  unable 
to  hit  upon  a  satisfactory  motive  for  sending  it. 

She  looked  at  the  clock  and  rose  to  leave.     It  was  twenty-five 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  177 

minutes  to  three,  and  she  wished  to  be  on  time.  A  paper-man 
told  her  to  get  on  the  Victoria  'bus  and  get  off  at  the  bottom  of 
Whitehall.  She  climbed  on  top,  and  the  blustering  autumn  wind 
made  her  hold  her  hat.  It  made  her  face  glow,  too,  as  it  rushed 
eastward,  carrying  stray  pieces  of  paper  high  in  air  and  mak- 
ing the  little  flag  on  the  'bus  rattle  and  slap  sharply  just  over 
her  head. 

At  the  bottom  of  Whitehall,  when  the  conductor  called  up  the 
steps  "  Here  y'are,  miss !  "  she  began  to  hesitate,  and  half  un- 
consciously resented  it.  She  felt  aggrieved  that  in  so  serious  a 
crisis  her  mind  should  be  clouded  by  an  uncertainty  of  route  and 
the  superficial  shyness  natural  to  strange  surroundings.  It  put 
her  at  a  disadvantage,  and  in  his  presence,  in  his  own  office  in 
the  plenitude  of  his  power,  she  was  alarmed  lest  she  should 
become  what  she  would  have  called  "jumpy."  Her  aplomb  in 
matters  of  ordinary  daily  life  was  not  due  to  brutishness,  mere 
dead  insensibility  to  psychic  influence,  but  to  a  nice  balance  of 
receptivities,  the  same  balance  which  makes  even  little  girls 
sometimes  behave  sweetly  to  strangers,  whom  they  hate,  makes 
them  sometimes  pause  in  a  sentence  about  the  governess  and  say, 
"  Isn't  that  pretty?  "  pointing  to  the  flowers  in  a  wet  ditch.  As 
Minnie  walked  down  towards  the  park  gates  at  the  end  of  Great 
George  Street,  she  felt  keenly  alive  to  the  tactical  advantage 
Anthony  would  have  in  this  interview. 

"  Oh,  I  wish  I  knew  what  it  is  he  wants,"  she  whispered  to 
herself.  But  she  went  on,  holding  her  head  high,  for  the  ad- 
venture still  called  to  her.  After  all,  was  not  this  a  greater 
thing  than  would  have  ever  happened  to  her  up  at  the  factory? 
Whom  could  she  meet  who  would  be  able  to  intimidate  her? 
And  she  went  on  round  into  Old  Queen  Street,  gaining  courage 
as  she  walked. 

Number  82  was  a  high  narrow  house  on  the  western  side.  On 
either  jamb  of  the  white  door  were  painted  names  —  names  of 
architects,  of  typists,  and  civil  engineers.  Above  was  a  long 
copper  plate  bearing  the  words  in  red  letters: 

Gilfillan  Filaments  Limited 

On  a  white  board  in  black  letters  in  the  entrance  hall  was  the 
statement  that  the  registered  offices  of  the  company  were  situ- 
ated on  the  top  floor,  and  the  reader  was  informed  also  that  he 


178  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

or  she  would  only  be  seen  by  appointment.  Minnie  read  this 
gravely  and  went  on  upstairs.  At  the  top  she  once  more  en- 
countered a  door  marked  with  the  name  of  the  company.  The 
name  was  getting  on  her  nerves. 

"  It's  as  bad  as  Little  Liver  Pills,"  she  muttered,  and  pressed 
the  bell-push. 

A  slide  in  a  glass  panel  shot  back  and  a  young  girl  with  a 
spotty,  cunning  face  peered  out. 

"  Mr.  Gilfillan  in  ?  "  said  Minnie,  musing. 

"  What  name,  please?  " 

"  Gooderich."     The  slide  slammed  to  again. 

In  a  short  time,  too  short  for  Minnie  to  experience  any  change 
of  mood,  the  door  was  opened  by  the  young  person. 

"  Step  this  way,  please." 

She  led  Minnie  along  a  linoleumed  passage  through  a  door, 
then  along  a  carpeted  passage  into  an  office  where  two  men  sat 
at  big  desks  each  absorbed  in  calculations,  and  thence  to  an- 
other door  whereon  was  inscribed  in  fat  red  letters,  "PRI- 
VATE" and  at  the  bottom  in  small  italics, 

Mr.  Anthony  Gilfillan. 

The  young  person  knocked,  opened  the  door,  and  Minnie,  with 
her  habitual  scared  look  round,  entered.  The  door  closed  behind 
her. 

The  room  was  small  and  exquisitely  furnished.  A  red  Tur- 
key carpet  covered  the  floor,  on  either  side  of  the  fireplace  was 
a  great  leather  chair,  and  the  walls  were  hung  with  etchings  in 
wide  mounts.  A  rose-wood  desk  stood  open  by  the  window, 
littered  with  papers  and  supporting  a  reading-lamp,  a  tele- 
phone and  half  a  dozen  speaking  tubes.  The  window  itself  was 
noteworthy,  for  it  was  of  stained  glass,  the  design  being  Dioge- 
nes hunting  for  an  honest  man  with  the  aid  of  a  Gilfillan  Lamp. 
But  the  most  noteworthy  object  in  the  room  was  Anthony  Gil- 
fillan himself,  as  he  stood  with  his  elbows  on  the  red  marble 
mantel,  looking  down  at  the  wood  fire  that  glowed  and  crackled 
in  the  grate. 

Minnie  stood  by  the  door  for  a  moment  wondering.  Was 
this  really  one  of  the  secrets  of  his  power,  this  faculty  of  mak- 
ing a  surprising  situation?  If  he  only  drank  a  cup  of  tea  in  a 
cafe  he  would  do  it  in  a  way  that  made  the  girl,  the  manager, 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  179 

and  the  cashier  remember  him.  Wonderful  discovery  of  mod- 
ern life  —  publicity!  For  Anthony  Gilfillan  it  had  passed  from 
being  merely  a  pleasing  fancy,  a  business  proposition,  an  ad- 
mirable policy.  It  had  become  the  measure  of  his  existence. 
All  things,  frOm  the  High  History  of  the  Holy  Grail  to  the 
mysteries  of  the  Upanishads,  were  for  him  the  Instruments  of 
Publicity.  All  emotions,  trained  by  his  iron  will,  were  units  in 
an  army  fighting  for  Publicity.  Just  now,  an  emotion  had  mu- 
tinied and  he  was  deliberating.  He  turned  and  faced  the  girl 
standing  by  the  door,  so  that  she  could  see  the  haggardness  of 
his  face. 

"  What  is  it?  "  she  said,  coming  to  him.  "  You  sent  for  me. 
What  for?" 

"  To  see  if  you'd  come,"  he  answered  slowly.  '*  To  test  my- 
self. Since  last  night  I  have  been  uncertain  of  myself.  This 
cannot  go  on." 

"What  can't  go  on?" 

"  Sit  down."  He  pointed  to  one  of  the  great  chairs  and  she 
seated  herself.  "  What?  I  was  speaking  half  to  myself.  This 
state  of  mind  cannot  go  on.  I  cannot  give  my  mind  to  my 
work?  I  have  done  nothing  to-day.  So  I  decided  to  settle  it 
once  for  all.  I  could  not  leave  the  office  for  some  hours."  He 
waved  his  hand  towards  the  telephone.  "  I  wired  to  you  to 
come  to  me.     And  you  have  come." 

"  Yes  ?  "  she  said,  looking  at  the  fire. 

"  Will  you  come  to  me?  "  he  asked,  looking  down  at  her.  "  I 
need  you.  And  what  appeals  more  to  you,  I  think,  you  need  me. 
I  can  help  you  to  what  you  want,  Life.  I  can  show  you  many 
things.     For  a  time  we  shall  be  happy,  I  believe." 

"  It's  wrong,"  she  whispered. 

"  It  is  up  to  you,"  he  replied,  staring  at  the  fire.  "  To  marry 
would  be  madness,  I  can  see  that.  You  are  of  a  different  type, 
a  type  quite  as  necessary  as  any  other,  especially  to  men  like 
me.     But  .  .  ." 

"  No,"  she  said. 

"  But  as  a  rule,"  he  went  on,  "  girls  like  you  have  no  choice." 

"  Well,"  she  said,  standing  up  in  front  of  him,  "  have  I  got 
any  choice  if  —  if  I  say  I'll  come?" 

"  I  said  it's  up  to  you,  my  dear,"  he  answered,  putting  his 
hands  on  her  shoulders.  "  Isn't  that  a  choice?  Or  do  you 
think,  are  you  afraid,  I  cannot  make  good  my  promises  ?  " 


180  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

"  No,"  she  said,  finding  her  vein  at  last.     "  I  want  to.     I'm 

not  afraid.     I  want  to  have  a  good  time.     But "  she  paused, 

touching  the  edge  of  his  coat  with  her  fingers.  Anthony  Gil- 
fillan  followed  her  eyes  and  divined  the  cause  of  her  trepidation. 

"  No,"  he  said.  "  There  are  no  buts.  Why  distress  yourself 
like  this?  You  are  trying  desperately  to  talk  to  me  now  as 
though  we  were  equals,  and  this  strange  room  frightens  you." 
He  shook  her  gently  and  her  eyes  returned  to  his.  "  Leave  the 
thinking  to  me.  Leave  everything  to  me.  Can  you  get  into  that 
mood?  " 

"  Just  do  what  you  tell  me?  "  she  queried. 

He  nodded.  *'  Just  that,"  he  said,  and  there  was  silence.  He 
put  his  hand  to  her  hair  where  it  escaped  from  her  hat,  her 
plain  little  old  sailor  hat,  and  touched  it  lightly.  Her  small 
pale  face  was  composed  and  her  bosom  heaved  regularly.  The 
unrest  was  dying  out  of  the  dark  blue  eyes  as  they  fell  and  re- 
flected the  flames  on  the  hearth. 

So  came  the  proposition  to  Minnie,  in  a  guise  she  could 
scarcely  have  foreseen.  She  moved  a  little  to  one  side,  holding 
to  his  coat  the  while,  that  she  might  watch  the  red  heart  of 
the  fire.  She  had  been  barely  four  minutes  in  the  room,  yet 
her  attitude  toward  Anthony  had  undergone  a  change.  Though 
he  had  insisted  on  her  inferiority,  yet  —  she  felt  nearer  to  him. 
The  words  "  I  need  you,"  are  as  potent  as  ever,  and  Anthony 
Gilfillan  had  made  a  slip  in  psychology  when  he  imagined  that 
the  converse  "  You  need  me,"  would  weigh  much.  "  I  need 
you  "  changed  the  atmosphere,  changed  their  relative  positions, 
changed  everything.  As  she  stood  looking  into  the  fire,  she 
began  to  see  still  further  the  possibilities  of  the  new  situation. 
The  material  side  opened  out  before  her.  Here  was  this  shrewd 
business  man,  this  tireless  inventor,  a  man  who  had  built  up  a 
syndicate,  master  of  those  silent  men  outside,  telling  her  that 
he  needed  her.  And  as  her  mind  slowly  grasped  this  new  view 
it  was  startled  and  stimulated  by  the  shrill  buzz  of  the  tele- 
phone. In  a  moment  Anthony  Gilfillan  had  grasped  the  re- 
ceiver on  his  desk  and  began  to  talk. 

"  Hello,  Hello !  Yes,  this  is  Filament.  Yes,  speaking  to  you 
now,  Hello !  "  A  pause,  and  Minnie  stood  motionless  and  tense. 
"  Hello !  Yes  ?  Somebody  else  cut  in,  I  think.  Yes,  this  is 
Mr.  Gilfillan.  Is  that  Mr.  Quaritch?  Good  afternoon,  Mr. 
Quaritch.     I  say!     Did  you  get  my  note?     Yes?  —  Oh.  really? 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  181 

.  .  .  That's  very  interesting.  Is  he  coming  to  town?  ...  I 
see.  Oh  yes,  I  must  see  him  before  he  goes  out  East  again. 
Our  Light  of  Asia  Filament  is  the  proposition  for  him  you 
know.  .  .  .  Well,  I'm  engaged  all  this  week.  Shall  we  say 
Monday,  at  —  let  me  see?  "  He  turned  over  a  scribbling  diary 
on  his  desk.  "  Monday  at  twelve.  How  would  that  do  ?  .  .  . 
Yes,  certainly,  I'll  write  him.  I've  been  planning  a  trip  East, 
you  know,  and  it  would  simplify  matters  very  much  if  we  could 
get  a  representative  in  Pekin  first. —  What  ?  —  Oh,  quite  so, 
quite  so.  You  did  quite  right.  Anything  extra,  of  course,  I'll 
see  goes  through.  What  hotel  is  he  staying  at?  Royal,  Glas- 
gow? Right.  I'll  write  him  this  evening.  How's  everything 
in  your  section  ?  —  Good.     Yes,  all  right.     Good-bye." 

He  put  the  receiver  back,  pressed  an  electric  button  in  the 
wall  and  sat  down  to  write  an  entry  in  his  diary.  There  was  a 
knock  at  the  door,  and  a  trim  young  woman  entered  with  pencil 
and  note-book.  Minnie  regarded  her  with  piercing  interest. 
Here  was  another  of  Anthony's  satellites,  a  mere  cog  in  one 
of  his  many  wheels.  The  girl  stood  at  his  elbow  without  utter- 
ing a  word,  merely  whipping  open  her  book  and  waiting.  In 
an  even  voice  he  dictated  a  brief  letter  to  Yuen  Shi  Loo,  Esq., 
Royal  Hotel,  Glasgow,  begging  him  to  favour  Gilfillan  Fila- 
ments Limited  with  a  call  on  Monday  next  at  noon,  when  their 
Mr.  Gilfillan  would  have  much  pleasure  in  going  into  the  ques- 
tion of  an  Asiatic  Agency  already  touched  on  by  their  Mr. 
Quaritch.  They  begged  to  enclose  particulars  of  their  Light 
of  Asia  patent,  in  which,  no  doubt,  Mr.  Yuen  Shi  Loo  would  be 
interested. 

"Enclose  Light  of  Asia  No.  17  and  the  General  Catalogue," 
he  remarked  in  conclusion. 

The  young  woman  made  a  few  more  hieroglyphics  in  her  book 
and  departed.  Anthony  turned  to  Minnie,  whose  eyes  were 
bright  with  interest. 

**  Well,"  he  said,  taking  her  hands.  "  What  is  the  verdict?  " 
She  looked  up  at  him. 

"  I  wish  I  could  help,  here,"  she  said. 

"  Here?  No,  I  have  something  better  for  you  to  do.  I  do 
not  share  Mrs.  Wilfley's  opinion  of  you,  you  know.  She  is  not 
competent  to  analyse  a  character  like  yours." 

"  You  think  I'm  not  capable,  I  suppose." 

"  That  does  not  explain  it.     You  can  help  me  better  by  being 


182  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

my  friend.  I  have  not  many  real  friends,  you  know,"  he  went 
on,  as  though  thinking  aloud.  "  A  man  cannot  in  business. 
Les  Affaires  sont  les  affaires.  I  never  see  any  of  these  people 
here  except  in  office  hours.     It  would  not  do." 

The  young  woman,  after  a  light  tap,  entered  again  with  a 
basket  of  letters  to  be  signed.  Minnie  watched  her  as  she  stood 
there  with  downcast  eyes,  and  wondered  what  her  thoughts  were. 
She  was  a  smart,  graceful  slip  of  a  girl.  A  curb  chain  bracelet 
hung  on  her  wrist  and  a  ruby  ring  glinted  on  her  finger.  En- 
gaged, evidently,  Minnie  surmised. 

Anthony  sat  down  and  read  each  letter  carefully,  making  a 
trifling  emendation  here  and  there,  finally  signing  it  with  a 
scrawl.  When  they  were  all  finished  the  girl  took  up  the  bas- 
ket and  retreated  without  a  word. 

"  Send  Mr.  Fitchett  in,  please,"  said  Anthony. 

He  turned  and  looked  at  Minnie. 

"  Time's  up,"  he  said,  smiling.  "  I  wish  you  would  sit  down." 
She  did  so,  leaning  forward  and  looking  at  him  earnestly. 

"  Time's  up  ?  "  she  said  curiously. 

"  Yes,  it's  too  late  to  draw  back  now." 

She  leaned  back  in  the  chair  and  closed  her  eyes  for  a  mo- 
ment, letting  herself  drift  quiescent  in  the  stream  of  circum- 
stance. It  was  a  novel  and  delightful  feeling  to  her,  this  sur- 
render of  will  to  a  stronger  power.  In  this  mood  she  tasted  to 
the  full  the  flavour  of  adventure  in  her  life.  Curiously  enough 
she  recalled  the  strange,  beautiful  figures  on  the  painted  panels 
of  that  little  cafe  of  Paoli's,  the  girls  seated  on  thrones  amid 
fountains  and  peacocks,  girls  wandering  with  their  lovers 
through  enchanted  forests.  A  tap  at  the  door  aroused  her.  A 
young  man  with  thin  hair,  brushed  straight  up,  entered  with 
papers. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Fitchett  —  just  draw  up  a  chair  will  you.  I'm 
going  away  for  a  few  days.  Shall  be  back  on  Monday  morning 
at  ten  sharp.  The  chief  matter  is  the  Tunisian  Contract.  If 
Monsieur  Couvrier  calls  to-morrow,  you  will  have  to  go  through 
the  whole  matter  with  him.  His  pourparlers  with  the  Mar- 
seilles firm  should  be  fairly  complete,  and  it  rests  with  him  to 
bring  pressure  to  bear  upon  them  to  take  the  goods  from  our 
licencees  there.  He  has  a  prejudice  in  favour  of  British-made 
goods,  you  know.  Use  tact,  of  course.  Then  with  regard  to 
the  Asiatic  Agency.     I   have  just  spoken  to   Mr.   Quaritch  in 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  183 

Glasgow  and  arranged  to  see  Mr.  Yuen  Shi  Loo  here  on  Mon- 
day. If  a  wire  should  come  in  the  meantime,  relay  it  to  this 
address." 

"Very  good,  sir.     Anything  else?" 

"  Yes.  This  proposition  from  the  Bullard  Company  of  San 
Francisco  is  worth  taking  up.  They  know  the  territory  and 
can  localise  the  publicity  to  much  greater  advantage  than  we. 
We  shall  need  a  guarantee,  of  course.  Mr.  Godalming  can  deal 
with  that.  He  will  be  back  from  Manchester  to-morrow  morn- 
ing." 

"  Very  good,  sir." 

The  young  man  with  the  thin  hair  took  up  his  papers,  per- 
mitted his  eyes  to  flutter  in  Minnie's  direction  for  a  moment, 
and  then  retired.  Anthony  Gilfillan  leaned  back  in  his  chair 
staring  abstractedly  at  the  figure  of  Diogenes  on  the  coloured 
window.  He  had  arrived  at  a  curious  condition  of  mind,  this 
financial  visionary.  Almost  against  his  profoundest  convictions 
he  had  succeeded,  for  like  most  dreamers  he  had  an  underlying 
touch  of  pessimism  in  his  nature.  Beyond  his  wildest  hopes  he 
had  trained  his  mind  to  one  end,  publicity.  And  now,  with 
regard  to  this  girl  whose  frank  unimaginative  nature  formed  so 
happy  a  contrast  to  his  own  experienced  enthusiasm,  he  found 
himself  nonplussed.  Publicity  was  not  desired  here,  he  was 
aware.  Mrs.  Wilfley,  if  she  heard  it,  could  be  trusted  to  give 
it  quite  sufficient  publicity  among  their  acquaintances.  Mrs. 
Wilfley  in  this  respect  was  his  superior,  he  knew.  She  could 
make  her  way  into  privacies  and  obtain  advertising  commissions 
where  even  his  indomitable  personality  had  failed  to  gain  an 
entrance.  In  this  particular  he  admired  her  immensely,  but  he 
saw  in  dazzling  clearness  the  need  of  keeping  her  ignorant  of 
this  present  adventure.  He  turned  suddenly  to  the  girl  and 
found  her  watching  him  intently. 

"  What  am  I  to  do?  "  she  asked. 

"  Go  back,"  he  said.  H  Go  back  and  wait  for  Saturday.  Can 
you  do  that?  "  He  rose  and  leaned  over  the  chair  where  she 
was  sitting.  For  some  moments  they  looked  into  each  other's 
eyes  without  speaking,  and  then  he  stood  up,  and  spread  out 
his  hand  with  a  gesture  of  helplessness. 

"Can  I  have  forgotten?"  he  said  dreamily.  "Can  I  have 
forgotten?  Or  have  I  never  learned?  My  dear."  He  took 
hex  hands  and  drew  her  up  to  him.     "  My  dear,  what  can  I  say 


184  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

to  you,  you  little  snow-flower?  Why  do  you  watch  me?  Are 
you  afraid,  after  all  ?  " 

"  Go  back?  "  she  repeated.     "  I  don't  understand." 

"  Will  you  ever  ?  What  do  we  know  of  romance,  we  two  ? 
And  yet  we  will  never  know  each  other  save  by  romance. 
That's  why  I  say  go  back.  Here,"  he  stopped,  unlocked  a 
drawer  in  his  desk  and  took  out  some  bank-notes.  "  Take  these, 
buy  whatever  you  like,  and  be  ready  on  Saturday." 

"  What  —  what  shall  I  buy  ?  "  she  stammered,  holding  the 
thin  crackling  papers. 

"  Buy  ?  Romance,  my  child.  Ribbons,  flowers,  scents,  silks, 
chiffons,  rings  for  your  fingers  and  bells  for  your  toes." 

She  looked  up  at  him  with  a  smile  breaking  from  her  lips  and 
eyes,  a  smile  of  comprehension. 

"Is  that  romance?"  she  asked.  "Was  I  right  after  all, 
when  I  said  it  was  money  did  everything  ?  " 

She  looked  at  him  and  laughed  in  his  face.  "  Wasn't  I 
right  ?     What's  the  good  of  anything  —  without  it  ?  " 

He  stared  at  her.  Even  he,  clear-headed  as  he  was,  had 
never  fastened  to  a  prime  truth  as  this  girl  had  done.  The 
rosy  mists  of  illusion  had  clung  about  his  eyes  so  that  he  still 
talked  of  the  utter  irrelevance  of  money  to  the  soul  of  man. 
He  was  like/  Mrs.  Gaynor,  like  Mrs.  Wilfley,  an  idealist,  while 
this  smiling  slip  of  a  girl  in  her  cheap  worn  dress  and  the 
crackling  bank-notes  in  her  clenched  hand,  was  instinctively  a 
realist.  She  might  give  him  the  purple  buskins  of  imperial  ro- 
mance while  she  thought  of  him  regardless  of  time  and  condi- 
tion, but  instantly,  when  the  dream  condensed  to  fact,  when 
they  met  face  to  face,  she  could  only  be  reached  by  the  cash 
nexus,  by  dinners  and  theatres,  by  things  that  cost  money.  Love 
in  a  Cottage.  Noble  Poverty  and  conjugal  struggles  with  the 
wcrld,  the  splendid  friendships  which  keep  artists  from  self- 
destruction  and  inspire  their  finest  works, —  all  these  things  were 
mere  vague  outlines  to  her,  she  curled  her  lip  slightly  at  their 
approach.  That  she  loved  him  was  indisputable,  but  her  love 
was  not  the  supreme  surrender  which  many  would  have  it,  the 
deathless  clinging  many  think  it  to  be.  She  was  Danae  in  her 
tower  of  brass,  and  Jove  himself  could  only  enter  in  the  form  of 
a  shower  of  gold. 

"What's  the  good  of  anything  —  without  it?" 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  185 

And  as  they  stood  there  she  recovered  her  position.  He  ha'1 
been  her  master  while  she  sat  in  the  chair  with  her  eyes  clf^d 
listening  to  his  sharp  staccato  speech  through  the  telephor  and 
to  his  subordinates,  her  master  when  he  had  caressed  /er  and 
called  her  his  "  child."  Now  she  was  his  mistress.  She  saw 
more  clearly  than  he  the  exact  poise  of  their  attraction,  the  ful- 
crum of  their  relationship,  the  metallic  pivot  ,n  which  they  were 
balanced,  and  she  smiled  into  his  face  with  blithe  triumph  at 
his  discomfiture.     He  roused  himself  in*  a  moment. 

"You  really  believe  that?" 

She  waved  the  notes  before  his  eyes. 

"  You  see !  "  she  said.  A  thought  crossed  her  mind,  and  she 
touched  each  of  the  notes  with  her  fo  efmger,  counting  them. 
He  watched  her,  amused  at  her  sedate    pleasure. 

"  You  see!  "  she  said  again,  and  rollii.g  them  up  stuffed  them 
in  her  purse. 

"  You  haven't  even  said  thank  you,"  re  said  gravely. 

"  Haven't  I  ? "  She  bit  her  lower  lip,  and  her  slow  flush 
mounted  her  cheek.  A  sharp  peremptory  ring  at  the  telephone 
made  them  jump.     Anthony  looked  at  his  watch. 

"  You've  had  twenty  minutes  of  my  time,"  he  exclaimed,  tak- 
ing the  receiver.  "  Saturday  now,  ^don't  forget.  Saturday 
noon."  He  turned  to  the  instrument  and  talked  swiftly  for  some 
moments.  * 

When  he  looked  round  she  was  gone. 

He  threw  himself  into  one  of  the  big  chairs  and  watched  the 
fire  under  his  hand. 

"Of  course,  I  might  have  known  that  I  would  have  no  other 
attraction  for  her.  She  is  only  a  chrysalis  just  now.  When  she 
has  money  to  spend  she  will  be  another  creature,  with  wings 
probably.  Well,  I  shall  have  what  I  need,  psychic  change. 
What  is  it  to  me  if  she  has  wings.  Wings  are  pretty.  Money! 
The  little  vampire!  And  yet,  no.  She  has  a  pride.  She  could 
not  be  bullied,  I  am  sure.  One  ought  to  call  her  grasping, 
callous,  mercenary,  yet  one  doesn't.  Why?  Pride,  I  suppose. 
What  a  study  her  temperament  is !  " 

There  was  a  tap  at  the  door,  the  young  man  with  thin  hair 
entered  and  they  proceeded  to  discuss  the  draft  of  a  new  ad- 
vertisement. 

"  I   had  a  very  pretty  fancy  just  now,"  said  Mr.  Gilfillan. 


186  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

''What  do  you  think  of  a  girl  with  gossamer  wings  caught  in  a 
t-  ^le  of  golden  filaments,  eh?  Light  caught  in  a  net,  you 
seer  " 

"  hJ  °Jlent,  sir !  "  said  the  young  man. 

"Publicity!"  remarked  Anthony  Gilfillan. 


VI 

MRS.  GAYNOR  was  sitting  in  her  front  room  in  her 
rocking-chair,  reading.  Outside  in  Maple  Avenue 
the  leaves  were  being  blown  about  and  defying  the 
efforts  of  an  old  man  to  sweep  them  into  little  heaps. 
Now  and  again  she  would  look  up  and  watch  him  through  her 
curtainless  windows,  a  bent  rheumatic  old  mortal,  feebly  bat- 
tling with  the  gusts.  When  she  looked  at  him  she  imagined  she 
gaw  a  Parable.  He  was  Humanity  toiling  to  accomplish  some- 
thing which  the  winds  blew  away.  Then  she  would  go  on  read- 
ing her  book.  She  was  glad  of  the  wind,  for  her  Monday 
washing  was  done  and  the  clothes  on  the  line  in  the  back  gar- 
den were  being  blown  taut  by  it,  and  by  evening  they  would  all 
be  dry.  Her  neighbours  said  she  was  rather  "  near "  to  do 
her  own  washing,  for  they  were  sure  she  could  afford  to  pay 
some  one  else  to  do  it.  But  Mrs.  Gaynor  went  on  her  way  se- 
renely, doing  her  washing  in  less  time  than  her  neighbours  took 
to  steep  it,  and  then  sat  down  to  read  a  book.  Little  Hiram 
was  seated  on  his  hassock  doing  a  lesson.  Sometimes  he  would 
rouse  up  with  an  "  Oh,  Ma,  how's  this  ?  "  and  she  would  bend 
down  to  show  him  how.     When  he  looked  up  and  said  quickly: 

"  Ma,  there's  Minnie  Gooderich !  "  his  mother  looked  up  too, 
and  saw  Minnie  coming  up  the  path. 

"Mercy!  So  it  is.  And  isn't  she  tittivated  out?  Get  up 
and  open  the  door,  child." 

"  Well  now,  if  you  haven't  struck  oil,  Minnie !  Sit  down, 
dear,  and  we'll  have  a  cup  of  tea." 

Minnie  sank  into  the  rocking-chair  and  patted  the  boy's 
cheek,  as  he  stood  smiling  beside  her. 

'"Ullo,"  he  said  genially.     "Where  bin?" 

"Oh,  ever  so  many  places,  Hiram  —  where 'd  you  think?" 

"Not  'Merica,  eh?" 

"  No,  not  America.  Not  nearly  as  far  as  that.  Mrs.  Gay- 
nor," Minnie  turned  to  where  Mrs.  Gaynor  was  busy  with  her 
spirit-lamp,  "  where  do  you  think  I've  been?  " 

187 


188  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

'*  A  department  store,  I  should  think,  for  one  place,"  said  the 
quiet  lady,  looking  at  the  girl's  clothes. 

"  I  should  think  so,  but  I've  been  to  the  seaside  too." 

"  I  thought  you'd  gone  to  work  at  Mrs.  Wilfley's." 

"  Yes,  so  I  have,  but  I'm  leaving  there,  I  think." 

"Why,  don't  she  suit?" 

"  She  doesn't  a  bit.     We've  had  a  row." 

"And  she's  paid  you  off?" 

Minnie  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"  No,  she  hasn't." 

"Well,  I'm  sure  I  can't  imagine  where  you've  picked  up  the 
style  along  with  those  things." 

Minnie  smoothed  down  the  skirt  with  a  smile. 

"Do  you  like  it?" 

"It's  just  perfection.     And  a  bracelet,  too!" 

"  It's  real.  You  see,  Mrs.  Gaynor,  I'm  going  to  have  a  good 
time.     A  friend  of  mine's  given  me  some  money." 

"  She's  a  real  friend  now." 

"  It  isn't  a  she." 

"  Hiram,  go  right  out,  and  take  your  hoop  with  you.  You 
can  finish  that  cyphering  by  and  by." 

Mrs.  Gaynor  went  on  with  her  spirit-lamp  and  tea-things  and 
allowed  Minnie  to  take  her  own  time. 

"  I'm  not  going  to  be  married,"  she  broke  out  at  length,  and 
still  Mrs.  Gaynor  kept  silence. 

"  Mrs.  Gaynor,  say  something,"  said  the  girl.  "  I  s'pose  you 
think  I'm   frightfully  wicked?  " 

"  What  do  you  want  me  to  think?  What  have  you  come  back 
to  me  for  ?  " 

"  Because  I  wanted  to  talk  to  you  about  it.  Mother,  she'd 
be  wild  about  it,  I  s'pose." 

"  Mothers  are  poor  things,  aren't  they,  child?  How  can  I 
help  you?     Is  he  a  rich  man?  " 

"  Yes,  he'll  be  very  rich  soon." 

"  Then  why  don't  he  marry  you  ?  " 

"We  don't  want  to  be  married.  He's  got  a  little  girl.  His 
wife  died  a  long  while  ago.  We  want  to  be  just  friends.  I 
told  you,  I  told  you,  it's  to  see  the  world  I  want.  I  s'pose  I 
am  wicked,  but  I  don't  care,  and  —  I  thought  you'd  understand, 
from  what  you  said." 

The  girl  paused  after  her  outburst  and  sat  with  her  face  in 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  189 

her  hands.  Mrs.  Gaynor  came  over  and  put  her  hand  on  her 
shoulder. 

"Minnie,"  she  said  in  her  even  voice.  "Are  you  real  cer- 
tain you  don't  care?" 

"No  —  I  don't." 

"  Then  I  can't  do  anything.  I  always  thought  you  were  a 
queer  child  and  needed  careful  looking  after,  and  I'm  sure  of  it 
now.  What's  worrying  you,  if  you  don't  care?  Other  women 
have  done  the  same  thing.  Sometimes  they've  bitten  off  more 
than  they  could  chew,  and  then  they've  gone  down  and  down. 
Sometimes,  they've  won  through  and  it's  been  for  the  best.  But 
it's  a  big  job,  child.  You  can't  come  to  anybody  for  help,  you 
know.     This  man,  is  he  a  real  man,  or  only  a  whittling?  " 

Minnie  raised  her  face,  put  up  her  hands,  and  unpinned  her 
gay  hat. 

"  He's  a  real  man,  as  you  call  it,  and  he's  got  brains  as  well 
as  money." 

"  But  I  can't  see  why  you  don't  go  to  him." 

The  girl  put  the  hat  down  on  the  table  and  lifted  her  face 
again  to  Mrs.  Gaynor's  earnest  look. 

"I  don't  go  to  him,"  she  said  proudly.  "He  comes  to  me? 
He  needs  me.  I  can't  explain  it  at  all.  He  is  very  lonely  for 
all  his  big  business  and  his  brains.  He  wants  me  to  help  him 
to  live.  No,  that  doesn't  explain  it.  But  when  we  went  away 
on  Saturday,  and  we  were  down  at  Clacton,  I  understood  it  plain 
enough.  We  were  so  happy.  He  can  talk  and  I  can  talk  too 
when  I'm  with  him.  We  walked  on  the  sands  in  the  dark,  and 
he  told  me  so  many  things,  and  I  told  him  things,  too.  It  was 
never  like  that  —  before,  you  know.  He  was  just  like  a  boy 
telling  about  his  troubles.  But  this  morning,  when  he  left  me 
at  Liverpool  Street  and  went  away  to  his  office,  I  felt  as  if  I 
couldn't  go  on  to  Mrs.  WTilfley,  and  I  was  lonely  and  wanted  to 
talk  to  some  one  who'd  understand.     So  I  came  out  here." 

Mrs.  Gaynor  looked  into  the  teapot  as  though  its  dark  pol- 
ished interior  held  the  solution  of  her  difficulty.  In  accordance 
with  her  habit,  she  held  her  peace  for  a  moment  after  Minnie 
had  ceased  speaking.  The  lid  of  the  copper  kettle  began  to 
flutter,  a  thin  and  beautiful  jet  of  the  steam  came  from  the 
spout  and  hung,  cumulous,  in  the  atmosphere.  Mrs.  Gaynor 
fixed  her  eyes  upon  this  as  she  began  to  speak. 

"  A  long  while  back,  Minnie,  when  I  was  a  girl,  I  knew  a 


190  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

school  teacher  like  you.  She  was  mighty  clever,  and  when  she 
went  from  Concord  to  the  seminary  at  Boston  she  just  swept 
the  board  with  her  essays  and  literature  work.  Her  family 
were  a  rather  united  one  as  a  rule,  and  couldn't  make  her  out 
anyway.  When  she  was  through  they  naturally  expected  her  to 
come  back  and  get  married  same  as  other  girls.  She  came  into 
the  store  where  I  was  selling  underwear,  and  she  gave  me  a 
shock  same  as  you  did  just  now  when  I  saw  you  in  those  clothes. 
She  came  right  on  up  to  my  corner,  and  when  she  saw  me  she 
smiled  and  sat  down  to  have  a  talk.  She  was  going  to  Europe, 
she  said,  and  was  laying  in  a  stock.  I  said  folks  generally  laid 
in  stock  on  the  other  side,  and  she  said  that  was  so  and  went 
on  talking  about  her  friends.  She  asked  me  how  the  '  old  folks  ' 
were,  and  I  told  her  she  knew  as  well  as  I  did  I  hadn't  any, 
for  they  never  came  back  from  Sacramento  after  —  '49.  That 
was  the  gold  year  —  I  s'pose  you've  never  heard  of  it.  Well, 
then  I  saw  something  was  wrong  with  Terry  —  her  name  was 
Teresa  —  and  just  let  her  talk  away.  At  last  she  said  he  was 
outside  in  the  phaeton  and  she'd  have  to  go,  but  I  was  to 
come  and  see  her  at  the  hotel.  When  the  store  shut,  and  it  was 
some  open  in  those  days,  I  went  along.  A  grand  place,  all 
maple  and  mahogany  panelling,  and  thick  carpets  on  the  stair- 
ways and  landings,  and  Terry  was  in  a  big  suite  right  over  the 
vestibule.  And,  do  you  know,  Minnie  Gooderich,  that  girl  told 
me  the  very  same  story  as  you  have.  She  was  going  to  have 
a  real  good  time  and  she  didn't  care  one  rap  for  what  people  'Id 
think,  only  she  wanted  to  tell  me,  just  because  she  felt  I  was 
safe  and  had  never  been  very  censorious.  When  she'd  fin- 
ished she  asked  me  what  I  would  do,  and  I  asked  her  back  if 
he  was  man  or  a  stick.  He  worshipped  the  ground  she  trod  on, 
she  said,  and  I  told  her  that  was  no  good  to  the  ground.  I 
asked  her  how  long  it  would  last,  and  she  turned  and  got  back 
on  me  by  crying  she  didn't  care  about  how  long  or  how  short, 
she  was  just  going  to  drift.  So  I  said,  'Well,  Terry,  by  that 
you  mean,  if  it  isn't  one  man,  it's  another.'  And  she  said, 
*  Well  ?  '  and  I  picked  up  my  umbrella  and  went  straight  home. 
I'm  afraid  I  was  a  little  censorious  in  those  days,  when  I  was 
younger.  I  had  no  patience  with  a  girl  who'd  deliberately  spoil 
her  career  that  way.  Well,  she  came  a  good  deal  to  the  store 
and  bought  little  things  as  an  excuse  to  talk  to  me,  until  the 
day  they  sailed  for  Liverpool.     The  last  time  she  came  in  she 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  191 

gave  me  an  address  in  Paris  where  they  were  going,  and  I  was 
to  be  sure  to  come  and  see  her  some  time.  She'd  got  all  her 
smiling  courage  back  by  that,  and  all  my  black  looks  didn't  sig- 
nify. And  the  strange  thing  was  that  when  I  tried  to  imagine 
that  girl's  family,  all  crazy  with  the  worry  and  disgrace,  I 
couldn't.     I  was  taking  her  point  of  view  in  spite  of  myself." 

The  kettle  needed  attention,  and  Mrs.  Gaynor  rose  to  make 
the  tea.  Minnie  watched  her  with  strained  attention,  her  palms 
pressed  between  her  knees. 

"  Mind,  child,  I'm  telling  you  the  truth  and  thinking  the 
truth  at  the  same  time,  and  so  I  don't  believe  it  will  do  you 
any  harm  to  hear  it.  I  didn't  know  as  much  as  I  do  now,  but 
I  had  the  Light  even  then  and  held  my  peace.  My  way  was 
plain  enough,  and  I  walked  in  it.  I  was  always  for  the  quiet 
side  of  life.  When  I  was  married  and  my  husband  came  over 
here,  he  got  word  of  Terry.  He  brought  back  a  book  he'd 
bought  which  she'd  written  herself,  and  do  you  know,  Minnie, 
it  was  wonderful.  It  was  just  the  story  of  a  quiet  New  England 
girl  and  how  she  had  become  a  nun.  There  was  a  piece  written 
by  a  Frenchman  in  the  front,  and  he  told  how  the  writer  had 
come  to  Paris,  no  one  knew  how,  and  settled  among  them,  and 
how  she  had  attracted  a  lot  of  young  men  round  her  who  lis- 
tened when  she  talked  and  got  ideas  from  her.  The  Frenchman 
said  he  couldn't  explain  it  in  the  usual  way,  but  she  did  them 
all  good.  She  hadn't  much  time,  for  she  was  teaching  folks 
English  all  day  and  the  young  men  used  to  come  in  in  the  even- 
ings. I  guess  they  pretty  near  worshipped  Terry,  from  what 
that  Frenchman  said.  And  when  she  took  sick  and  died,  they 
all  went  to  her  funeral,  a  whole  string  of  them,  with  wreaths. 
And  then  they  found  this  story  in  her  room,  and  they  got  it 
printed  and  translated,  and  there  it  was." 

Mrs.  Gaynor  paused  again  to  pour  out  the  tea,  and  Minnie 
waited  for  her  to  go  on. 

"  Now  I  expect  you're  wondering  what  Terry's  story's  got  to 
do  with  your  case,  eh?  Well,  it  showed  me  that  we  can  never 
be  sure  what  a  girl's  vocation  is  in  the  world.  If  we  were 
all  cut  off  one  stick  it  'Id  be  an  easy  matter.  But  we  aren't 
anything  of  the  sort.  Every  single  one  of  us  is  a  new  and 
wonderful  creation,  and  it  'Id  be  a  miracle  if  we  fitted  right  into 
the  place  where  we  dropped,  wouldn't  it  now  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  s'pose  so.     But  I  can't  write  books  and  all  that." 


192  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

"  Who  said  ?  No  one  ever  knew  she  could  write  anything 
worth  while,  though  to  be  sure  no  one  would  have  been  sur- 
prised. It  was  her  influence  that  made  those  young  men  flock 
round." 

"  You  do  take  her  part,"  said  Minnie,  accepting  a  cup  of  tea 
from  Mrs.  Gaynor's  hand. 

"  No,  child,  I  don't,  any  more'n  I  take  yours.  I'm  just  sit- 
ting here  trying  to  see  your  view  of  it,  and  it  reminded  me 
of  Terry.  From  what  I  could  find  out,  she  had  a  hard  strug- 
gle for  two  or  three  years,  but  then  I  can't  see  myself  what  that's 
to  do  with  it.  She  might  have  had  more  trouble  if  she'd  stayed 
in  New  York  and  married.  People  don't  ever  seem  to  realise 
that  doing  what's  right's  no  guarantee  against  misfortune.  Look 
at  me,  for  instance.  My  way's  always  been  along  a  quiet  road, 
and  yet,  I've  had  a  terrible  struggle  at  times,  especially  when 
my  husband  had  small-pox  and  died  when  Hiram  was  six  months 
old.  It's  the  people  who're  comfortable  who  have  time  to  worry 
over  little  trivial  things.  All  the  talking  in  the  world  wouldn't 
change  your  plans,  I'm  quite  sure.  You  wouldn't  have  come  out 
here  unless  you'd  made  up  your  mind." 

Minnie  gave  a  short  laugh  as  she  stirred  her  tea. 

"  You  seem  to  think  I'm  in  for  it  anyway,"  she  said. 

"  Deep  sorrow  means  deep  joy  as  well,  child,  for  those  who 
find  the  Light." 

"  Light?     What  Light  is  it  you  mean?  " 

"  I  don't  think  you'd  understand  yet,  Minnie.  Your  mother 
asked  me  the  other  day  just  the  same  question.  She  said,  '  Is 
it  conversion  you  mean?  '  I  said,  '  No,  not  quite  conversion, 
because  I've  never  been  converted,  and  you  can't  judge  by  things 
you've  never  experienced.'  It  is  thought-power,  I  should  say, 
which  helps  you  to  understand  yourself.  And  when  you  can  do 
that,  why  " —  here  the  quiet-voiced  woman  stood  up,  her  grey- 
green  eyes  opened  wide  towards  the  light,  and  her  serenity 
touched  with  the  fire  of  a  profound  emotion  — "  why  everything 
is  as  plain  as  plain  can  be.  That's  why  we  call  it  the  Light. 
Now  you  are  in  the  dark,  you  can't  see  what's  going  to  happen. 
Some  day,  perhaps,  you'll  get  the  Light." 

Minnie  went  on  drinking  her  tea  and  looking  out  of  the  win- 
dow. Mrs.  Gaynor's  explanation  of  her  own  mental  evolution 
was  not  particularly  clear  to  the  girl,  but  that  perhaps  did  not 
matter.     Mrs.  Gaynor's  genius  was  subliminal;  her  influence  was 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  193 

catalytic.  She  semed  to  effect,  by  her  presence,  changes  of  soul- 
periods  in  which  she  herself  had  no  part,  remaining  quiescent 
at  the  back  of  things.  She  was  indeed  the  right  person  for 
Minnie  to  seek  at  this  time,  for  she  was  the  antithesis  of  An- 
thony Gilfillan,  the  dynamic  giver-out  of  energy,  the  restless 
dreamer.  She  was  static  and  receptive.  Her  mental  pictures 
were  etchings,  quiet  landscapes  set  against  the  dry  unearthly 
Light  of  which  she  so  often  spoke.  And  as  she  sat  a  little  back 
in  the  shadow  near  the  fire-place  and  looked  out  at  the  driving 
leaves,  she  had  one  of  those  pictures  clear-cut  before  her  mind, 
a  picture  of  herself  and  her  husband  seated  on  the  verandah, 
he  with  his  face  raised  from  his  paper  as  he  listened  to  her  justi- 
fication of  Terry.  It  passed  quickly  enough,  even  as  Mrs.  Gay- 
nor  set  down  her  cup  and  lokcd  at  Minnie  with  a  smile. 

"  I  don't  know  how  it  is,  Mrs.  Gaynor,  I'm  sure,  but  it  does 
me  good  to  talk  to  you.  And  besides,  you  know,  in  a  way  you're 
responsible  for  this,  because  if  you  hadn't  sent  me  to  Mrs.  Wor- 
rall  and  so  on  to  Mrs.  Wilfley,  I  shouldn't  have  met  Anthony." 

"  We're  all  responsible  that  way,  but  it  doesn't  amount  to  a 
row  of  pins.  Responsibility's  like  a  string  we  can  only  see  the 
middle  of.     Both  ends  arc  out  of  sight." 

"  Yes,  that's  true,  but  I  can't  help  thinking  of  it,  all  the  same. 
Have  you  seen  mother  lately  ?  " 

"  Just  passing." 

"  I  think  I'll  look  in  and  see  her?  " 

Mrs.  Gaynor  looked  at  her  in  surprise.     "Like  that?" 

"Well,  why  not?     It's  all  black." 

"It's  a  gay  black,  child,  with  those  feathers.  Oh  well!  Go 
on,  go  right  in  then.  I  was  only  thinking  how  much  English 
women  value  mourning." 

"  Will  you  come  in  too  ?  " 

"  Surely.  But  wouldn't  it  be  better  to  send  Hiram  and  ask 
your  mother  to  step  in  and  have  a  cup  of  tea,  here  ?  " 

"  Yes,  if  you  like." 

Mrs.  Gaynor  went  out  to  beckon  to  the  hoop-trundling  Hiram, 
who  had  flashed  at  intervals  across  their  field  of  vision. 

Minnie  suddenly  became  aware  of  a  nervous  aversion  to  meet- 
ing her  mother.  That  rather  round-shouldered  and  insignifi- 
cant figure  presented  to  her  a  novel  and  disturbing  front.  Her 
mother  of  course  was  an  honest  woman.  She  was,  moreover, 
her  mother,  and  would  scan  her  daughter's  face  with  a  merciless 


194  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

searing  gaze.  It  appears,  therefore,  that  a  daughter  who  does 
not  care,  for  whom  the  stony  path  of  conventional  virtue  has  no 
allurements,  whose  contempt  for  her  mother  is  above  the  average, 
can  nevertheless  flinch  from  the  ordeal  of  encounter.  Why  was 
this?  Not  vulgar  fear:  Minnie's  reserve  of  pugnacity  was  enor- 
mous. Not  economic  dependence:  she  could  feel  against  her 
flesh  the  gratifying  abrasion  of  three  of  the  remaining  bank- 
notes. Not  contrition:  when  a  woman  is  well  dressed  contrition 
is  with  her  a  mockery  and  a  sham.  Not  even  physical  unfitness, 
for  Mrs.  Gaynor's  tea  was  mild  and  Minnie  never  felt  better  in 
her  life.  What  then?  I  think  it  must  have  been  that  the  con- 
trast between  herself  and  her  mother  would  be  so  sharp  that  she 
doubted  her  ability  to  "  carry  it  off*."  And  then  if  she  were  to 
.  .  .  but  as  to  the  upshot  of  offering  her  mother  money  she  had 
not  the  imagination  to  divine. 

Mrs.  Gaynor  returned.  She  knew  the  value  of  a  hiatus  in  a 
heart-to-heart  talk,  how  often  it  slackens  a  taut  thread  or  bridges 
a  perilous  gap.  Minnie  felt  the  relief  of  her  absence  for  a  mo- 
ment, and  turning  round  set  the  feathery  hat  over  on  the  head 
of  the  sofa  somewhat  in  shadow.  She  remembered  this  act 
afterward;  she  remembered  also  that  almost  the  first  glance  of 
her  mother's  eyes  went  straight  at  the  nodding  plumes.  At  first 
nothing  was  said  while  they  waited  for  Mrs.  Gooderich.  Minnie 
wished  Mrs.  Gaynor  would  speak,  but  to  tell  the  truth,  Mrs. 
Gaynor,  who  was  observant  and  had  seen  the  postman  deliver 
a  letter  at  No.  Eleven  that  morning,  was  slightly  apprehensive 
of  "  a  scene."  She  knew  it  would  be  better  and  more  decor- 
ously played  in  her  house  than  in  theirs. 

"  You  didn't  write  to  your  mother,  I  suppose  ?  "  said  she  at 
length. 

Minnie  shook  her  head.     "  Why  ?  " 

"  I  saw  the  postman  go  in  this  morning  after  he'd  passed  me," 
said  the  lady  quietly  finishing  her  tea  and  turning  to  the  spirit- 
lamp. 

"  Oh !  "  said  Minnie,  quite  unmoved. 

And  then  Mrs.  Gooderich  in  her  weeds  appeared  and  came 
up  the  path. 

Something  made  Minnie,  when  the  door  opened,  stand  up. 

"How  is  it  you're  here?"  said  Mrs.  Gooderich,  sitting  down 
on  the  sofa.     "  I  thought  you'd  got  a  place  with  Mrs.  Wilfley." 

"  That's  right,  so  I  have." 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  195 

"  Have  you  ?  Then  why  does  she  write  to  me  to  tell  me 
you've  gone  away  with  some  man,  eh  ?  "  And  she  drew  an  en- 
velope from  her  pocket  and  held  it  out. 

"  Is  that  what  she  says?  " 

"  Yes,  it  is,  and  I  can  see  it's  true  ?  " 

"  Well,  don't  shout,  mother." 

"  Shout !  Wouldn't  it  make  anybody  shout  ?  To  bring  a  child 
up  respectable,  to  bear  with  her  every  whim,  and  take  her  sauce, 
and  then  have  a  letter  like  that  from  a  stranger?  And  your 
father  not  cold  in  his  grave.  You  know  you  ought  to  be  at 
home  with  me;  and  I'm  quite  sure  if  you'd  only  been  civil  to 
people  at  the  factory,  you  could  have  stayed  on.  Ethel  Tanner's 
gone  back." 

"  Mother,  if  you  want  to  know  why  and  how  Ethel  Tanner's 
gone  back,  I  can  tell  you,  but  I  don't  think  you'd  like  to  hear  it. 
Leave  her  out  of  it." 

Mrs.  Gooderich  looked  at  her  daughter's  composed,  colourless 
face  for  a  moment  without  speaking.  Minnie,  in  spite  of  her 
apprehensions,  was  "  carrying  it  off."  Her  new  black  dress, 
with  its  high-necked  collar  and  its  skirt  clinging  to  the  hips  and 
trailing  a  little  behind,  gave  Minnie,  as  she  stood  there  looking 
down  on  her  mother,  a  tall  and  commanding  appearance.  With 
a  characteristic  lack  of  dramatic  instinct,  Mrs.  Gooderich  had 
placed  herself  in  the  most  ineffective  position  she  could  have 
chosen.  Letters,  indignation,  maternal  authority  —  all  were  dis- 
counted by  this,  that  Minnie  was  better  dressed  and  she  towered 
over  her  mother  as  she  stood  by  the  table.  Mrs.  Gooderich  took 
out  a  black-bordered  handkerchief.  She  lacked  the  dignity 
which  weeds  demand,  somehow,  and  Minnie  saw  this.  She 
waited  for  her  mother  to  speak.  Silently  Mrs.  Gaynor  offered 
the  widow  a  cup  of  tea.  The  fit  of  anger  which  had  been  fed 
pn  r  since  Mrs.  Wilfley's  letter  had  arrived  was  spent.  Tea 
and  tears  were  to  follow.     She  refused  bread  and  butter  weep- 

ingly- 

Minnie  was  ill  at  ease  again  for  a  moment.  She  herself  never 
wept  and  thought  it  silly. 

"  Don't,  mother ! "  she  said  at  last. 

But  Mrs.  Gooderich  wept  on  silently,  impassively,  the  tears 
rolling  down  her  small  tired  face  and  into  the  teacup.  She  had 
been  sorely  tried  mentally  and  spiritually  of  late.  Her  ap- 
pearance in  deep  black  at  the  chapel  the  day  before  had  re- 


196  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

suited  in  a  certain  change  of  heart.  Little  Hannibal,  also  in 
black  and  in  thick-soled  boots  which  kicked  occasionally  at  the 
pew  in  front,  had  wondered  when  the  minister  had  patted  his 
cheek  and  smiled  benignantly.  He  had  wondered  still  more 
when  his  mother  had  sent  him  to  the  Sunday-school  after  din- 
ner while  she  herself  had  gone  to  the  cemetery.  Mrs.  Goode- 
rich  was  vaguely  seeking  consolation.  The  loneliness  of  widow- 
hood has  often  this  effect.  She  had  always  been  desirous  of 
joining  the  chapel  —  church  was  too  grand  —  but  somehow  there 
had  never  been  time.  But  now  there  was  plenty  of  time;  at 
least  she  hoped  so,  tremulously.  She  had  tried  to  pray,  for 
Bert  in  the  barracks  at  Casterbridge  who  wrote  of  his  chance  of 
"  going  out,"  for  Minnie  away  in  London,  for  Hannibal  kicking 
his  legs  about  by  her  side,  for  herself,  whose  future  seemed  dark 
and  desolate;  and  she  had  gained  strength,  she  thought.  And 
then  that  letter  from  Mrs.  Wilfley,  the  kind  lady  who  had  so 
generously  arranged  the  grand  concert,  had  upset  her.  She  had 
wasted  energy  by  giving  way  to  anger,  talking  to  an  imaginary 
Minnie,  neglecting  her  work  and  puzzling  Hannibal  with  unex- 
pected blows,  so  that  when  Hiram  told  her  Minnie  was  at  his 
mother's,  she  had  been  taken  by  surprise.  And  as  she  sat  there 
weeping  into  her  tea,  she  felt  with  a  pang  her  utter  impotence 
in  the  face  of  her  child's  frowardness.  It  was  a  strange  para- 
dox, this  erring  daughter  standing  unconsciously  contemptuous, 
"  over  her  mother."  If  the  latter  remembered  the  stockbroker's 
wife  of  long  ago,  she  showed  no  sign  of  that  lady's  tact.  Our 
conduct  is  indeed  of  a  piece  with  ourselves,  and  Mrs.  Gooderich 
could  not  have  behaved  as  her  mistress  had  behaved.  Driven  to 
silence,  she  wept.  It  may  seem  paradox  again,  but  even  if  a 
recital  of  her  own  misfortune  could  have  brought  Minnie  back 
to  her,  she  would  have  died  rather  than  utter  it.  That  was 
past.  She  had  done  the  right  thing,  and  her  fault  was  buried 
forever.     And  so  it  did  not  even  occur  to  her  to  speak  of  it. 

Mrs.  Gaynor,  somewhat  perplexed,  had  gone  on  administering 
to  material  needs  and  turning  the  situation  over  in  her  mind. 

"Why  don't  you  sit  down,  child?"  she  said  to  Minnie;  but 
Minnie  only  shook  her  head  and  looked  over  her  mother  at  her 
hat.     She  felt  instinctively  the  advantage  her  position  gave  her. 

"  I'm  goin',"  she  said  briefly. 

"  Minnie !  "  her  mother  started  up  and  seized  the  girl's  arm, 
but  Minnie  drew  away,  bending  over  the  table. 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  197 

"  It's  no  use,  mother.  You  don't  understand  and  you  won't 
understand,  so  it's  only  wasting  breath."  She  reached  over, 
took  the  feathered  hat  and  set  it  on  her  head. 

"  Never  look  to  me !  "  burst  out  her  mother. 

"  That's  one  tiling  you  can  depend  on,  mother.  I  shan't  do 
that." 

Mrs.  Gooderich  stepped  back  as  though  she  had  received  a 
blow. 

"  Minnie,"  said  Mrs.  Gaynor  in  a  clear  authoritative  voice, 
*'  promise  me  one  thing." 

"What?"  said  Minnie  without  turning  from  the  glass,  her 
hands  still  fixing  the  hat. 

"  Promise  me  you'll  always  write  to  me  and  tell  me  where  you 
are  and  how  you  are  getting  on." 

H  Yes,"  she  said,  "  I'll  do  that." 

"  Then,  Mrs.  Gooderich,  I'll  do  the  same  to  you.  And  now, 
Minnie,  kiss  your  mother." 

"  Good-bye,  mother." 

It  was  a  tragic  moment. 

"  Now  don't  forget,"  said  Mrs.  Gaynor. 

"  I  won't,"  said  the  girl,  and  went  out. 


m1 


PART  II 

I 

'  ^Y  |  ^HEN,  Madame,  what  do  you  propose  to  do?  " 
Stay  here  a  little  longer." 

But  I  have  mentioned  already  to  Madame  that 
there  is  a  fortnight's  account  due." 

"  He  may  return  this  morning." 

"But  if  he  does  not?" 

"  I  will  let  you  know." 

"  Madame  will  not  misunderstand  me  if " 

"  No,  no.     That  will  do  now." 

Somewhat  nonplussed,  the  landlord  of  the  "  Three  Pigeons  " 
returned  to  his  wife.  He  had  been  glad  of  Madame's  custom  a 
month  ago.  She  and  Monsieur  had  taken  rooms  at  a  time  of  the 
year  when  but  few  visitors  came.  Truly,  Monsieur  appeared  to 
be  a  commercial,  yet  he  was  free  with  money,  and  going  away 
a  fortnight  since  had  ordered  everything  to  be  continued  for 
Madame  as  before.  Now  they  were  somewhat  doubtful  of  the 
issue.  Monsieur  was  to  return  in  a  week.  At  the  end  of  a 
fortnight,  which  was  this  morning,  the  landlord  of  the  "  Three 
Pigeons  "  made  known  his  anxiety  to  Madame,  who  continued 
to  look  out  over  the  balcony  at  the  bustling  life  and  noise  on  the 
Quai.  He  had  no  desire  to  be  harsh:  quite  possibly  Madame 
was  in  a  quandary  herself.  A  day  or  two  ...  no  harm  could 
surely  come  of  a  day  or  two's  delay.  His  wife  leaned  her  fat 
elbows  on  the  desk  where  she  sat  and  hoped  so.  Tiding  over 
October  to  April  was  the  problem  of  their  lives,  for  commercials 
did  not  as  a  rule  come  to  the  "  Three  Pigeons  ";  they  preferred 
the  hostelries  near  the  station.  If  Monsieur  returned  all  would 
be  gay,  if  not  all  would  be  desolation.  So  closely  are  small  busi- 
nesses run  that  one  bad  debt  will  precipitate  disaster.  Both 
landlord  and  the  fat  lady  on  the  desk  looked  grave. 

Upstairs,  leaning  over  her  balcony,  Madame  watched,  with 
apparent  content,  the  scene  below.     The  Seine,  bearing  on  her 

198 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  199 

broad  placid  bosom  all  manner  of  craft,  waspish  destroyers,  huge 
snub-nosed  lighters,  swift  petrol-launches,  slim  white  yachts 
and  rusty  ocean-going  tramps,  was  spread  out  before  her.  Im- 
mediately below  the  sun  shone  down  on  the  red  and  white  striped 
awnings  of  the  cafes  that  line  the  Quai.  Carts  rumbled  over 
the  setts,  tramcars  clanged  and  whined  over  the  metals  as  they 
moved  off  up  to  Bonsecours,  over  the  bridges,  down  the  Rue 
Jeanne  d'Arc,  out  to  Darnetal ;  and  now  and  again  a  fussy  Benz 
motor-car  would  thutter  and  hoot  its  way  among  the  throng  of 
people  who  waited  for  the  trams.  Up  and  down  in  front  of  the 
cafes  the  merchants  of  the  City  promenaded,  discussing  their  af- 
fairs with  gestures  that  seemed  droll  from  above.  The  whole 
scene  was  animated  by  the  spirit  of  spring,  and  Madame,  in  spite 
of  the  landlord's  gloomy  forebodings  and  disquieting  interview, 
smiled  to  herself.  At  length  she  turned  away  into  the  little  room 
and  took  from  the  mantelshelf  a  letter.  That  it  had  been  al- 
ready perused  was  obvious,  for  she  displayed  no  haste.  Smiling 
thoughtfully,  she  unfolded  the  thin  foreign  sheets  and  laid  them 
on  her  knee. 

9  Maple  Road,  N. 
Feb.,  1906. 

My  dear  Minnie, 

I  received  your  letter  from  Antwerp  and  was  very  glad 
to  hear  you  were  well.  Hiram  and  I  have  had  colds  for  some 
time.  He's  been  home  here  a  week  now,  and  I'm  glad  to  say  he 
is  getting  on  fine  in  his  profession.  He  certainly  likes  the  sea, 
and  I  have  great  hopes  of  him.  As  soon  as  I  got  your  letter  I 
wrote  straight  away  to  your  mother.  She  says  she  doesn't  like 
East  London  at  all,  nothing  but  rain  and  slush  all  the  time.  As 
she's  said  this  for  four  or  five  years  now  (how  times  does  fly!)  I 
suppose  it  has  become  a  habit  with  her.  She  says  Hannibal  is 
giving  a  lot  of  trouble.  He  seems  to  have  lost  his  job  at  a  ware- 
house and  is  running  about  and  getting  into  mischief.  I'm  afraid 
your  mother  is  not  a  very  good  manager.  She  wasn't  here,  I 
know.  She  is  just  scraping  along  at  the  work  your  Uncle  George 
got  her,  and  not  venturing  to  get  anything  better.  I  must  say 
I  respect  your  mother  for  sending  back  that  money  you  sent. 
Did  you  get  it  back  safely?  She  won't  go  against  her  views 
whatever  any  one  says. 

Now,  Minnie,  what  are  you  doing  with  yourself?     Are  you 
really  happy,  now  you've  seen  the  world  and  gone  gadding  round 


200  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

for  so  long?  I  often  think  of  you  and  wonder.  You  say  you 
guess  you've  got  all  the  pleasure  any  one  gets  out  of  life,  but  I 
don't  think  you  quite  grasp  what  I  mean.  And  that  reminds  me 
that  I  saw  Mrs.  Wilfley  the  other  day  when  I  went  over  and 
had  tea  with  Mrs.  Worrall.  She  was  very  interested  in  your 
career,  she  said,  because  you  impressed  her  tremendously  with 
your  will-power  when  you  were  with  her.  And  although  she 
believes  you  were  quite  wrong,  which  was  the  reason  she  wrote 
to  your  mother  that  time,  she  still  thinks  you  have  a  future.  She 
has  just  published  another  book  on  the  subject  of  Women's 
Rights  and  Moral  Duties  and  hopes  you  will  read  it. 

Hiram  sends  his  love.  He  goes  back  to  his  ship,  the 
"  Cygnet,"  in  a  few  days,  and  I've  just  thought  I  would  take  the 
opportunity  to  look  in  and  see  your  mother.  Certainly  London 
is  a  terrible  place  to  get  about  in.  I  always  find  myself  in  the 
wrong  train  in  that  awful  Circle  Railroad.  And  you  know  I 
still  live  in  hopes  of  seeing  you  and  your  mother  reconciled.  I 
suppose  you  will  shake  your  head,  but  I  do  believe  if  you  came 
back  and  asked  your  mother  to  forget  the  past,  she  would. 
Your  sincere  friend, 

Ann  Butterick  Gay  nor. 

Minnie  let  the  letter  slip  from  her  fingers  and  sat  meditating 
upon  the  vicissitudes  of  her  life.  She  was,  as  a  matter  of  fact, 
once  more  at  a  turning  point.  Since  that  evening  five  years 
ago  when  she  had  returned  to  Clifford's  Inn  and  found  Mrs. 
Wilfley  with  some  friends  at  tea,  she  had  maintained  a  steady 
indifference  to  the  obligations  of  friendship.  Her  brief  notes 
to  Mrs.  Gaynor  had  been  but  the  fulfilment  of  her  promise,  and 
contained  little  save  a  record  of  her  changing  address.  Mrs. 
Wilfley,  indeed,  had  been  hard  put  to  it  at  first  to  explain  her 
interference,  though  the  subtle  suggestion,  seized  when  she 
gathered  that  Minnie  had  not  seen  the  letter,  that  there  was 
nothing  to  conceal  since  Minnie  was  now  an  emancipated  woman, 
checked  the  girl's  withering  invective.  The  word  "  emanci- 
pated "  held  Minnie's  fancy,  drew  her  attention  back  from  petty 
details  and  she  saw  herself  in  perspective  once  more.  And  she 
found,  moreover,  that  the  only  drawback  to  her  full  enjoyment 
of  the  evening  lay  in  her  own  ignorance  of  literature  and  art. 
Her  contempt  for  Mrs.  Wilfley  was  shorn  of  its  edge  when  she 
heard  that  lady  discussing  a  recent  and   famous  novel.     Cer- 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  201 

tainly  the  criticism  was  of  no  value  and  might  have  annoyed 
the  author,  but  it  sufficed  to  emphasise  Minnie's  feeling  that  she 
was  "  out  of  it."  She  left  the  flat,  promising  to  return,  and 
sought  Anthony  at  his  hotel.  The  experiment  had  satisfied  her 
she  would  not  be  able  to  remain  in  Clifford's  Inn.  To  his  ques- 
tion she  had  replied  that  she  looked  to  him.  He  was  busy  at 
that  moment  composing  an  arresting  piece  of  publicity  called 
"  The  Shrine  of  Indolence,"  but  he  put  it  to  one  side  at  once 
and  took  her  out  to  dinner.  She  remembered  that  dinner.  They 
did  not  go  to  Paoli's  that  time  but  to  one  of  the  great  caravan- 
saries of  the  West,  where  the  panels  of  the  walls  were  of  pale 
pink  satin,  where  the  waiters  wore  claret  and  gold  uniforms  and 
the  lights  on  the  tables  had  rose-coloured  shades.  A  great 
orchestra  in  the  distance  made  a  pleasing  tumult  that  drowned 
the  noise  of  cutlery  and  dishes,  and  Anthony  had  ordered  a 
bottle  of  port  wine.  In  many  ways  Minnie  measured  her  present 
life  from  that  port  wine.  It  marked  the  end  of  the  prelude 
of  her  emancipation.  Thereafter  she  stepped  deliberately  into 
the  milieu  of  the  first  act. 

And  now  it  should  be  succinctly  stated  in  her  defence,  that 
her  life  had  been  in  many  ways  restrained  and  modest.  That 
she  had  been  the  mistress  of  more  than  one  man  stands  clear 
against  her.  She  should  have  been  faithful,  I  admit,  just  as 
men  should  be  perfect.  She  failed,  I  suspect,  for  the  same 
reason  that  men  fail,  for  the  same  reason  that  a  sow's  ears  are 
unsuitable  raw  material  for  silk  purses.  But  of  riotous  living 
and  dishonest  dealing  there  had  been  none.  Her  failure  to 
realise  her  first  vague  intentions  as  a  sort  of  modern  Aspasia 
did  not  drive  her  to  the  quagmire  of  pilfering  and  blackmail. 
In  this  I  hold  her  honourable,  and  she  herself  had  no  qualms 
at  all,  now,  concerning  her  way  of  life.  This  fact  I  have  already 
remarked,  that  even  crime,  if  co-ordinated  and  run  on  business 
lines,  loses  its  essentially  criminal  aspect;  and  you  may  hear 
intelligent  folk  concede  a  half-envious  admiration  for  the  skill 
and  courage  of  a  bank-thief  or  company-promoter  —  this  fact, 
I  say,  has  a  vital  bearing  upon  the  outlook  of  a  woman  such  as 
Minnie  Gooderich  is  now  as  she  sits  looking  out  over  the  Seine 
from  her  pavilion  on  the  Qnai.  You  may,  if  you  please,  sit 
at  home  in  your  family  and  deplore  the  profligacy  of  her  life. 
You  may,  like  Mrs.  Wilfley,  grow  in  goods  and  fame  by  writing 
books  to  prove  that  she  cannot  escape  destruction  and  death. 


202  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

You  may,  like  Lady  Gophir,  interest  yourself  in  refuges  for 
her  in  her  dreary  and  squalid  decline.  You  may  do  all  this  and 
fail  to  grasp  the  essential  points  of  her  defence,  that  feelings 
control  men  and  women,  not  thoughts,  that  effort  is  non-moral, 
that  finally  you  yourself,  in  your  comfortable  home,  are  as  re- 
sponsible as  she.  Mr.  Gilfillan's  fine  Flowers  of  Publicity  are 
no  more  inevitable  products  of  our  age  than  Minnie's  callous 
independence  of  soul.  We  have  cackled  of  the  romance  of  busi- 
ness until  business  is  our  only  romance.  We  have  slain  Poesie, 
and  her  pale  phantom  stalks  amid  our  stark  realities  unrecognised 
and  undesired.  We  have  seen  Art  on  the  street  selling  herself 
for  money,  but  we  have  lost  the  right  and  the  impulse  to  rebel. 

Quite  unconscious  of  this  trend  of  existence  she  sat  there 
looking  out  at  the  busy  life  of  the  old  City  of  Rouen.  She  had 
altered,  as  we  say,  since  the  days  at  the  factory,  altered  some- 
what for  the  better.  Her  face  was  a  little  thinner,  her  mouth 
had  more  decision  than  ever,  but  her  dark  blue  eyes  were  less 
belligerent  in  their  steady  gaze.  Her  simplicity  in  dress  was 
noticeable  too,  she  having  cultivated  a  certain  severity  of  line 
which  suited  her  spare  figure  and  graceful  deliberateness  of 
movement.  /y  Her  weaknesses  were  perfumes  and  negliges.  To 
spray  her  clothing  with  aggressive  essences,  to  sit,  without  cor- 
sets, watching  the  up-curling  spirals  of  cigarette-smoke,  sufficed 
to  her  for  recreation,  literature,  and  the  fine  arts.  /  She  became 
in  a  way  a  work  of  art,  odorous  and  phantasmal.  On  some  men 
this  aspect  of  her  was  the  limit  of  fascination.  And  she  could 
smile  too,  exposing  faultlessly  even  teeth,  conveying  in  her  glance 
a  profound  knowledge  of  human  life. 

Of  her  wanderings  there  is  small  need  to  speak  at  length. 
She  had  made  Western  Europe  her  seminary,  her  Didascalion, 
learning  rapidly  and  intuitively  the  things  of  which  she  had 
need.  As  Mrs.  Gaynor  had  said,  "If  it  was  not  one  man  it 
was  another."  Let  it  be  said,  at  least,  that  she  appealed  gen- 
erally to  men  of  superior  quality,  and  appealed,  moreover,  to 
them  as  men  and  not  as  beasts.  She  was  no  Circe,  turning  men 
into  swine,  but  rather  attracted  them  by  her  subtle  air  of  de- 
tachment and  held  them  by  an  implication  of  mystery.  ^That 
men  are  more  generous  to  their  casual  loves  than  to  their  wives 
and  families  cannot  be  laid  to  her  door.  /She  benefited  by  it 
as  your  business  profits  by  idiosyncrasies  of  the  market,  and 
she  thought  no  more  about  it. 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  203 

But  just  now,  as  she  sat  by  the  window,  she  was  somewhat 
weary  of  the  play,  and  was  meditating  the  possibilities  of  a 
return  to  a  less  nomadic  existence.  Her  anxiety  as  to  the  return 
of  Monsieur  had  been  genuine  though  veiled  before  the  landlord 
of  the  "  Three  Pigeons."  The  latter's  dulness  had  prevented 
him  from  connecting  the  departure  of  Monsieur  with  that  of  a 
certain  steamer  a  fortnight  before.  Minnie  was  aware,  however, 
that  that  same  steamer  was  due  from  Antwerp  even  now.  But 
she  was  wondering,  nevertheless,  whether  it  would  be  better  to 
make  an  effort  on  her  own  part  and  return  to  England  for  a 
time.  She  would  prefer  that  the  captain  of  that  steamer  should 
pay  her  bill  at  the  "  Three  Pigeons,"  and  on  that  account  alone 
did  she  prevaricate.  A  repetition  of  that  unique  experience,  a 
voyage  cooped  up  in  a  berth  in  a  rolling  tramp-steamer,  did  not 
appeal  to  her.  She  reflected  with  disgust  upon  the  nausea  and 
fatigue,  and  the  unpleasantness  of  the  clandestine  exit,  to  prevent 
gossip,  at  midnight. 

She  rose  at  last,  and  picking  up  the  letter  opened  her  trunk 
and  took  therefrom  a  writing  case.  It  contained  a  thick  packet 
of  letters  from  Mrs.  Gaynor,  for  they  had  each  kept  the  promise 
made  that  afternoon  long  ago,  and  these  letters  were  Minnie's 
only  link  with  her  early  life.  Strained  through  Mrs.  Gaynor's 
fine  sieve,  her  mother's  attitude  towards  her  seemed  devoid  of 
bitterness,  and  lacked  any  positive  note  save  that  she  was  as 
determined  as  ever  to  take  no  money  from  her  daughter.  Min- 
nie laid  the  last  letter  on  the  packet  and  tied  it  afresh  with  a 
piece  of  ribbon.  She  would  answer  it  by  and  by,  when  she  had 
decided  what  to  do. 

When  she  had  dressed  herself  for  walking  she  went  out  and 
descended  the  stone  stairs  of  the  hotel.  Times  were  certainly 
slack  with  the  "  Three  Pigeons."  The  cafe  was  deserted  save 
for  the  landlord,  who  sat  on  the  red-plush  lounge  reading  the 
Petit  Journal,  and  Madame  at  her  desk,  engaged  in  her  inter- 
minable accounts.  They  looked  up  quickly  as  Minnie  appeared 
and  passed  out,  nodding  nonchalantly.  They  exchanged  glances 
and  shrugs,  and  relapsed  to  their  former  abstraction  in  news 
and  figures.  Minnie  did  not  speak  French  fluently.  She  had 
never  remained  long  enough  anywhere  to  feel  the  need  of  a 
foreign  language,  and  was  accustomed  to  leave  such  bargainings 
as  were  necessary  to  her  protectors.  At  the  same  time  she 
could  ask  intelligibly  for  her  meals,  and  even  convey  to  the  land- 


204  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

lord  that  his  fears  for  Monsieur  were  unfounded.  She  turned 
now  up  the  Rue  de  la  Grosse  Horloge,  and  halting  under  the 
very  shadow  of  the  grey  arch,  entered  a  restaurant  where  she 
was  accustomed  to  lunch.  She  liked  it  because  it  reminded  her 
of  the  little  places  in  Soho  where  she  and  Anthony  Gilfillan  had 
occasionally  dined,  little  places  more  popular  and  more  con- 
gested even  than  Paoli's,  where  you  all  sat  at  one  big  board  like 
a  family,  and  called  the  waiter  by  banging  the  pepper-box  on 
the  table.  So  much  did  Minnie  concede  to  sentiment;  she 
thought  of  Anthony  without  regret.  But  then  she  thought  of 
everything  without  regret;  even  of  their  parting,  effected  sud- 
denly and  quietly  when  he  went  to  Mexico  to  arrange  the  forma- 
tion of  a  new  subsidiary  company.  It  had  been  looming  for 
some  time,  he  growing  more  and  more  absorbed  in  his  great 
schemes,  she  gaining  more  and  more  interest  in  trivial  things. 
She  had  met  his  daughter  too,  a  grey-eyed  convent-bred  made- 
moiselle, perfect  in  language  and  savoir-faire,  and  had  been 
stricken  suddenly  with  a  deep  conviction  that  the  girl  would  later 
on  effect  her  dismissal  in  summary  fashion.  She  was  indeed 
no  longer  necessary  to  the  dreaming  capitalist  and  inventor. 
His  advance  in  fame  and  riches  had  brought  him  in  touch  with 
famous  men  and  brilliant  women,  women  who  knew  more  than 
he,  who  had  travelled  and  studied,  who  knew  courts  and  kings, 
who  helped  right  and  left  to  acquire  ascendency  over  their  hus- 
bands and  brothers,  who  led  him  into  great  country  houses  and 
Mediterranean  villas,  whither  Minnie,  for  all  her  restrained  re- 
finement, could  not  go.  So  they  had  parted,  amicably  enough, 
he  to  his  suite  on  a  West-bound  liner,  she  to  her  new  attraction, 
a  square-jawed,  brown- faced  naval  officer  on  leave,  who  found 
in  her  small  flat  in  Fulham  a  novel  and  delightful  haven  after 
his  China  Station. 

It  was  noon  and  the  room  was  full,  for  others  beside  Minnie 
appreciated  the  home-like  cosiness  of  the  place.  The  waiter 
stood  lashing  the  crumbs  from  the  table  with  his  napkin  and 
listened  to  Minnie's  quiet,  hesitating  voice  as  she  enumerated 
her  requirements.  Removing  her  long  gloves  and  laying  them 
beside  her  as  she  bent  over  the  carte,  she  became  aware  of  the 
scrutiny  of  her  neighbour,  a  middle-aged  woman  clad  in  fault- 
less black.  Minnie  looked  up  at  her  and  met  a  pair  of  wide- 
open  brown  eyes  in  a  face  of  powdered  pallor,  eyes  shaded  by 
a  large  black  hat  that  was  set  far  forward  in  the  style  of  the 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  205 

moment.  The  woman's  smooth  white  hands  had  rings  on  the 
short,  slightly-pointed  fingers,  and  heavy  drops  dragged  at  the 
lobes  of  her  small  ears. 

"  Ingleesh  ?  "  said  the  lady  with  a  smile  as  she  dissected  her 
cutlets,  and  Minnie  regarded  her  with  fresh  attention. 

"  Yes,"  she  replied.     "  Do  you  speak  it,  much?  " 

The  lady  nodded,  munching. 

"  I  live  zere,  in  Inglan'." 

"Do  you?     Where?" 

"  London ! " 

"Do  you?" 

"  Ver'  good  place,  London.  I  have  a  bizness  zere.  You 
have  a  bizness  ?  " 

"  No.     I'm  here  for  a  holiday." 

"  Ah !  " 

The  soup  came  and  Minnie  took  her  spoon  and  began  to  eat 
it.  Her  neighbour  cut  a  piece  from  the  yard-long  roll  on  the 
table  and  put  it  down  beside  Minnie's  plate. 

"  What  is  your  business?  "  asked  the  latter. 

"  Modiste  an'  chapeaux.  A  ver'  small  place  but  ver'  good. 
I  like  Inglan'." 

"  Yes,"  said  Minnie.  "  It's  a  good  place.  I  was  thinking  of 
going  back." 

"  An'  ze  Inglishmen,  I  like  zem.  You  like  Inglishmen,  eh?  " 
The  brown  eyes  glittered. 

"Sometimes.     Do  you  know  many?" 

"Ah  yes!  I, have  many  frien's  Inglish,  wiz  plenty  money. 
Inglish  sweet'eart,  'e  spen'  plenty  money." 

"  Yes,"  admitted  Minnie,  tipping  her  plate  away  from  her. 
"That's  true.     You  have  an  English  sweetheart?" 

"  Certainly ! "  drawled  the  lady,  eyeing  Minnie  as  though 
doubtful  of  her  comprehension.     "An'  you?" 

"  Perhaps.  But  not  now.  When  do  you  go  back  to  Eng- 
land?" 

"  To-morrow,  by  ze  night-train.     An'  you  ?  " 

"I  —  I  don't  know  quite.     I  am  waiting  for  some  one." 

"Ah!     An'  if  he  no  come?" 

"  Then  I  will  come  back  to  England  with  you  if  you  like." 

"Can  you  do  the  dressmaking?" 

"Not  much.     Why?" 

"  I  wish  for  assistance  in  my  bizness  in  London." 


206  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

Their  eyes  met  for  a  moment  in  a  challenge,  and  then  Minnie 
finished  her  soup. 

The  meal  went  on  and  they  became  acquainted,  in  the  manner 
of  their  class,  with  each  other's  condition.  Marie  Antoinette 
Letellier  heard  with  approval  of  Minnie's  reasons  for  awaiting 
the  return  of  the  steamer,  but  she,  with  her  somewhat  wider 
experience  of  the  ways  of  seafarers,  was  not  certain  of  Mon- 
sieur's return. 

"  Ze  Capitains,  zey  come  zey  go,"  said  she,  and  Minnie  seemed 
to  imply,  by  her  grimace  and  her  slightly  raised  shoulders,  that 
persons  who  pursued  such  a  precarious  calling  might  be  quite 
capable  of  a  little  uncertainty  in  their  movements.  Her  com- 
panion suggested  coffee  at  the  Cafe  Victor,  near  the  Municipal 
Theatre,  and  she  assented.  They  paid,  rose,  bowed  to  Madame 
and  went  out  into  the  busy  little  street  which  had  been  so  busy 
and  so  beautiful  for  so  many  centuries.  Neither  of  these  women 
noticed  anything  about  this  narrow  thoroughfare,  save  that  it 
was  narrow  and  the  shop-windows  small.  They  walked  down 
towards  Jthe  river,  Madame  Letellier  leading  in  the  press  and 
talking  over  her  shoulder. 

"  You,  you  have  no  frien's  'ere  in  Rouen?  " 

Minnie  shook  her  head. 

"  Ah,  I  have  many.     I  will  show  you." 

"At  the  Cafe  Victor?" 

"  Ah,  perhaps.     But  if  not  —  but  I  will  show." 

Arrived  at  the  Quai,  Minnie  scanned  the  shipping  quickly, 
and  then  called  her  companion's  attention  to  a  funnel  with  a 
yellow  band. 

"So?"  said  the  lady.  "He  is  arrive,  ze  sheep.  You  will 
see  him  then,  you  zink  ?  " 

"  I'll  wait  and  see,"  said  Minnie  gravely,  and  her  companion 
led  the  way  along  towards  the  Cafe  Victor.  But  at  the  theatre 
she  paused,  turned  up  to  the  left  towards  the  great  garage  in 
the  Rue  de  Charettes  and  entered  an  apparently  empty  cafe. 
A  ghostly  attendant  rose  from  a  chair  in  the  rear  and  they 
exchanged  remarks  unintelligible  to  Minnie,  and  then  Madame 
Letellier  ascended  the  stairs  to  the  first  floor.  Here  again  the 
room  was  large  and  vacant,  save  for  a  little  group  of  women 
lunching  by  a  corner  window  which  admitted  a  limited  view 
of  the  Quai.  A  chorus  of  exclamations  greeted  them  as  they 
appeared;   Madame  explained  her  companion  with  a  wave  of 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  207 

the  hand,  and  sitting  down  entered  into  the  conversation  with 
zest.  Here  Minnie  became  isolated,  for  the  ceaseless  inter- 
jangling  argot  of  the  women  was  beyond  her.  She  gathered 
that  one  of  them,  a  thin-faced  good-natured  girl,  was  describing 
an  indescribable  midnight  ride  in  the  tonneau  of  a  motor-car, 
describing  it  with  a  wealth  of  gesture  and  detail  that  sent  her 
hearers  into  paroxysms  of  laughter.  How  the  friend  of  her 
friend  who  was  supposed  to  be  driving,  tried  to  turn  round  and 
look  into  the  tonneau,  how  they  missed  a  wagon  by  inches  and 
finally  demolished  a  fence.  Quelle  vie!  They  all  screamed, 
and  bent  over  their  knees  in  ecstasy. 

Minnie,  sitting  where  she  could  see  the  water-front  if  she 
cared  to  look  out,  and  drinking  her  black  coffee,  watched  them 
curiously.  She  had,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  rarely  come  into  touch 
with  the  middle  classes  of  her  profession,  the  hardy  demi- 
mondaines  who  occupy  a  place  between  the  Minnies  and  the  ten- 
ants of  the  tiny  cubicles  above  their  heads  and  in  the  Rue  Victor 
Hugo.  She  did  not  wish  to  come  into  touch  with  them  exactly, 
for  women  like  her  become  accustomed  to  regard  other  women 
as  either  rivals  or  servants.  So  she  sat,  well  content  to  be  a 
mere  witness  of  their  mirth,  drinking  her  coffee  and  looking  out 
towards  the  sparkling  river. 

The  women  themselves  eyed  her  with  quick  appraising  glances 
as  they  laughed  and  talked,  and  assisted  by  Madame  Letellier's 
succinct  hints,  placed  her  accurately  enough.  So  placed  she 
received  their  respect  as  one  of  the  elite.  It  was  their  finest 
ideal  to  be  the  mistress  of  a  rich  man,  an  ideal  too  rarely  attained 
in  these  days  of  competition  and  high  rents.  There  was  a  cer- 
tain reproach  to  their  boisterous  fun  in  her  unobtrusive  presence; 
but  none  knew  better  than  they  that  her  repose  was  the  result 
of  her  position.  Wait  till  she  had  to  enter  their  ranks,  and  she 
would  soon  find  the  need  of  companionship  and  high  jinks  to 
keep  her  spirits  up. 

For  Marie  Antoinette  Letellier  their  respect  was  less  evi- 
dent than  their  admiration  and  envy.  She  was  a  smart  busi- 
ness-woman as  well  as  fastidious  in  her  caprices,  lucky  woman 
that  she  was!  The  lucky  woman  had  no  pride,  however,  and 
talked  in  torrents  of  persons  and  places  they  knew  and  under- 
stood. 

Keeping  her  eyes  on  the  people  passing  along  the  Quai,  Min- 
nie saw  a  little  man  in  a  blue  suit  and  black  bowler  hat,  and 


208  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

carrying  a  brown  leather  case,  pass  and  disappear.  She  leaned 
over  and  touched  her  friend. 

"  Voila!  "  she  said.     "  He  is  come.'' 

"  Bon"  said  her  friend.     "  You  are  going?  " 

"  Yes,  I  shall  be  at  the  *  Three  Pigeons/ "  replied  Minnie, 
and  nodding  to  the  others,  went  out. 


I 


II 

i  1  ^T"  DON'T  mind  admitting  you  can  make  it  very  awkward 
for  me,  very  awkward/'  said  Captain  Briscoe,  as  he  ran 
his  fingernail  along  the  ship's  name  on  his  brown  leather 
case. 

They  were  sitting  in  the  Museum,  facing  the  "  Death  of 
Madame  Bovary,"  and  the  good  captain  was  obviously  ill  at 
ease.  He  was  a  small  neatly-made  man,  with  weathered  features 
and  reflective  eyes  which  were  contemplating  the  tragedy  on 
the  canvas.  Whether  he  appreciated  to  any  extent  the  sublime 
pathos  of  that  scene  did  not  transpire.  Seafaring  captains  are 
not  as  a  rule  susceptible  to  the  appeals  of  Art.  He  was  looking 
at  it,  however,  and  he  continued  to  look  at  it  because  he  knew 
that  Minnie  was  looking  at  him  and  he  felt  the  delicacy  of  the 
situation. 

"  I  don't  suppose,  Mabel,"  he  went  on — (Mabel  was  the  name 
he  knew  her  by) — "  I  don't  suppose,  Mabel,  that  you  quite 
realise  what  this  means  to  me.  You  think  I'm  too  easily  scared. 
But  then  you  don't  know  Shields." 

Minnie,  alias  Mabel,  admitted  that  she  had  scarcely  heard 
of  such  a  place  before  he  had  mentioned  it,  that  she  was  hazy 
even  now  as  to  its  whereabouts. 

"  It  doesn't  matter,  you  haven't  lost  much.  It  so  happens 
that  the  new  mate  I've  with  me  this  time  not  only  lives  in  the 
same  town,  but  in  the  same  street.  So  it  follows  that  I  simply 
can't  afford  to  give  him  the  slightest  chance.  ...  If  my  people 
were  to  think  that  I  was  going  about  .  .  ." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Minnie.  "  You  needn't  apologise.  I 
only  go  where  I'm  wanted.  You  might  have  left  me  in  Ant- 
werp, though,  since  you  are  so  particular.  I  was  much  more 
at  home  in  Antwerp  than  I  am  here." 

"  Now  don't  say  you  regret  it !  "  said  Captain  Briscoe,  turn- 
ing to  her  in  consternation  and  putting  his  hand  on  her  arm. 
"  Don't  say  that,  Mabel !  I  shall  never  forget  it  myself,  as  long 
as  I  live.  That  fortnight  here  and  that  week  in  Antwerp  I  shall 
not  forget.  I  thought  you  were  different  from  the  rest.  I 
thought  you  wanted  to  come." 

209 


210  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

"  Oh,  that's  all  right,  but  what  use  is  it  my  wanting  if  you're 
so  afraid  of  your  mate  you  daren't  see  me  in  the  street." 

"  Well,  I  am.  If  his  wife  wasn't  a  cousin  of  my  sister-in-law 
it  might  not  matter  so  much." 

"  I  suppose  the  fact  of  the  matter  is  you're  married  all  the 
time  and  afraid  she'll  know,"  said  Minnie,  with  good-tempered 
irony. 

"  Not  on  your  life !  Do  you  think,  if  I  was  married,  that 
I'd  .  .  ." 

"  Thanks  again,"  replied  Minnie  amiably,  and  Captain  Briscoe 
returned  to  his  explanations. 

"  Oh  well,"  remarked  Minnie,  who  knew  the  utter  folly  of 
losing  her  temper  with  men,  "  I  shall  have  to  manage  as  well 
as  I  can,  that's  all.  I  will  say  this.  You've  come  and  told 
me,  and  that's  more  than  some  sailors  would  do,  so  I've  heard." 

"  Ah,"  he  assented,  "  and  some  shore-people  too." 

They  were  silent  for  a  moment,  contemplating  the  "  Death 
of  Madame  Bovary." 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do,"  said  the  Captain  at  length.  "  I'll 
pay  the  hotel  bill  at  the  '  Three  Pigeons  '  and  cover  the  fare 
back  to  Antwerp.  I  feel  this  way  about  it.  I'd  hate  to  think 
you  had  any  bad  feeling  for  me,  thinking  I'd  bilked  you  out  of 
a  single  cent.  I  want  some  time  perhaps,  when  I  get  to  Antwerp 
again,  and  all's  clear  —  you  understand  ?  " 

She  patted  his  cheek  lightly.  "  All  right,  George,"  she  said, 
smiling.  "I'm  sure  I  don't  know  the  fare  to  Antwerp.  Do 
you?" 

"  Fifty  francs'll  cover  it,  I'm  certain,"  he  said,  opening  his 
leather  satchel. 

"  Mind,  I  don't  ask  you  for  this,"  she  observed. 

"  No,  I  offer  it.  I  can  afford  to  pay  my  own  way,  my  dear, 
and  pay  for  my  fancies  too." 

He  looked  at  his  watch  and  stood  up. 

"  I  must  get  back  to  the  ship,"  he  said.     "  Well ! " 

She  sat  looking  up  at  him,  almost  winsomely.  He  stooped, 
and  with  his  hand  on  her  shoulders,  kissed  her  cheek.  "  Write 
to  me,"  he  said. 

She  promised. 

For  a  long  time  she  sat  in  front  of  the  picture  by  Albert 
Fourne,  which  is  entitled  "  The  Death  of  Madame  Bovary." 


Ill 

WHEN  Minnie  re-entered  the  hotel  of  the  "Three 
Pigeons  "  it  was  six  o'clock,  and  no  one  had  yet 
ordered  any  dinner.  Madame  sat  as  usual,  her 
great  account-books  before  her,  eternally  casting 
up.  Her  husband,  having  read  all  the  advertisements  of  the 
Petit  Journal,  was  perusing  a  back  number  of  Le  Rire,  but  with 
a  woe-begone  face. 

When  Minnie  passed  through  alone,  they  looked  up  and  ex- 
changed shrugs.  Evidently  there  was  a  misfortune  in  store 
for  them.  Taking  the  ponderous  key  from  the  board,  she 
ascended  to  her  room.  There  was  a  smile  on  her  lips  as  she  took 
off  her  walking  things,  and  then  removing  her  blouse,  began 
to  wash.  One  of  her  passions  was  cleanliness  of  body,  another 
was  the  purity  of  her  linen.  The  latter  had  become  a  cult. 
Perfume  and  feathers,  laces  and  even  jewellery  she  would  have 
abandoned  in  indigence  before  linen.  A  woman  might  catch  a 
man's  attention  with  her  finery,  but  it  was,  in  her  opinion,  the 
immaculateness  of  the  intimacies  which  would  hold  him  if  he 
were  worth  the  holding.  But  of  this  she  was  not  thinking  as 
she  laved  her  bare  arms  and  neck,  the  small  flat  oval  of  trans- 
parent soap  gleaming  like  a  topaz  in  her  fingers.  She  was 
thinking  of  the  good  captain's  ethics  and  wondering  if  he  were 
a  type.  For  Minnie  with  leisure  had  developed  an  interest  in 
types,  and  was  often  amused  with  the  serious  moral  theories  held 
by  her  lovers.  These  theories  never  held  them  back  from  any- 
thing they  desired,  she  noticed.  Captain  Briscoe  was  a  case  in 
point.  The  trim  little  man,  with  his  knowledge  of  the  world 
as  he  conceived  it,  a  world  of  agents  who  wanted  to  rob  his 
owners,  crews  who  wanted  more  than  they  signed  for,  respectable 
friends  and  relatives  who  demanded  a  flawless  reputation  of 
him  in  return  for  their  favour, —  this  trim  little  man,  I  say,  in 
spite  of  all  this,  had  a  touch  of  real  romance  in  his  soul.  But 
to  his  misfortune  he  had  met  Minnie  as  a  courtesan  and  he 
could  not  rearrange  his  ideas  to  suit  the  change  in  his  feelings. 

211 


212  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

Had  she  been  only  rated  as  respectable  when  he  first  encountered 
her,  she  would  have  been  his  choice,  she  would  have  been  offered 
his  name  and  the  privilege  of  kissing  numberless  female  relatives 
whenever  she  met  them,  besides  the  command  of  a  semi-detached 
residence  in  Shields.  But  she  had  not  been  so  rated,  and  the 
tangle  of  emotional  and  ethical  impulses  seemed  inextricable. 
It  had  led  him  to  a  comical  contradiction  in  his  language,  had 
led  him  to  caress  and  insult  her  in  almost  the  same  moment. 

She  smiled  in  the  glass  as  she  remembered  the  parting.  What 
extraordinary  creatures  were  men.  There  was  that  young  chap, 
a  Consul's  son  of  all  people,  who  had  expressed  his  unplumb- 
able  contempt  for  "  any  bounder  who  would  bilk  a  woman,"  and 
had  vanished  from  the  scene  like  a  morning  mist,  leaving  her 
in  the  lurch.  .  .  . 

There  was  a  knock  at  the  door. 

"  Come  in,"  said  the  lady,  taking  up  a  small  soft  white  towel. 

"  Pardon,  Madame,"  said  a  voice  as  the  door  opened  and 
closed  quickly. 

"  Oh,  come  in,  Monsieur,  come  in !  Is  it  anything  very 
important  ?  " 

"  Only  this,  Madame."  And  the  landlord,  still  holding  the 
knob  of  the  door  with  his  left  hand,  as  if  in  protection  from 
the  lady's  charms,  sidled  into  the  room  and  extended  a  card 
held  between  two  fingers.  Minnie  paused  in  her  vigorous  use 
of  the  towel  to  crane  her  head  to  read  the  inscription. 

"  Tell  her  to  come  up,  please." 

"  Certainly,  Madame  ?  And  —  er  —  is  it  impertinent  to  ask 
what  Madame's  plans  are  ?  " 

"  Yes  —  I  mean  No.  Give  me  the  bill  to-morrow  morning. 
I  am  leaving  by  the  night  boat  at  Dieppe." 

"  Excellent,  Madame.  I  will  make  it  out  up  to  to-morrow 
night.     You  will  require  dinner  ?  " 

"  Send  Madame  Letellier  up  here,"  cut  in  Minnie. 

Madame  Letellier  appeared,  cool  and  composed,  with  her  per- 
fect-fitting corsets  and  attention  to  details. 

"  I  did  not  think  you'd  be  so  soon,"  said  Minnie  as  she  shut 
the  door. 

" Peste?     What  a  climb!     WThat  for  you  live  zo  'igh?  " 

"  Fresh  air.     I  saw  him." 

"Ah!     An    it  is  all  right?" 

"All   right."     Minnie  took  up   a  powder  puff.     Marie  Le- 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  213 

tellier  watched  her  critically  for  a  moment,  and  then  espying 
the  open  trunk,  began  to  rummage.  She  herself  was  already 
dressed  for  the  evening.  Her  black  jacket  was  open,  showing 
a  sheer  voile  blouse  with  a  blone  net  collar  carried  almost  up 
to  her  ears.  Minnie  heard  the  soft  creak  of  her  corsage  as  she 
stooped  and  lifted  some  garments.  Clapping  her  hands  together 
to  rid  them  of  powder,  Minnie  came  over  and  took  out  the 
blouse  she  intended  to  wear.  Unlike  Madame's  it  was  buttoned 
in  front,  for  Minnie  had  never  been  able  to  afford  a  maid,  and 
details  like  that  are  important. 

"  Ver'  nice ! "  commented  her  friend,  eyeing  the  smooth 
handkerchief-linen  material  of  snowy  whiteness.  "  How 
much?  " 

"  Bon  marche.  Twenty  francs,"  was  the  reply,  as  Minnie's 
small  fingers  slipped  the  big  pearl  buttons  into  place  and  settled 
the  waist. 

"  Too  much.     I  make  that  for  ten  shillings." 

"  Oh  well !     I  could  make  it,  but  look  at  the  fag." 

"Eh?" 

"  Too  much  trouble !  "  And  Minnie  proceeded  to  fix  the  soft 
loose  collar  and  blue  sailor's  knot.  She  fastened  it  with  a  broach 
made  of  three  sovereigns  soldered  to  a  back-plate,  a  notable 
example  of  ornament  and  utility  combined. 

"  There,"  she  said.  "  Now  I'm  ready.  Do  you  know  I'm 
supposed  to  be  going  back  to  Antwerp." 

"  Yes !  "  Marie  Letellier  drawled  the  word,  as  she  stared  up 
at  Minnie  from  the  trunk.  It  was  evident  from  that  drawl  that 
she  understood  Minnie's  statement  in  its  entirety.  "  He  like 
you  ver'  much?  " 

Minnie's  mind  reverted  to  her  musings  on  Captain  Briscoe's 
dilemma,  and  she  smiled  as  she  said  that  such  was  the  case. 
The  Frenchwoman  regarded  her  with  fresh  attention  —  and  re- 
spect. Minnie,  then,  could  do  that,  hold  a  man  in  invisible  fet- 
ters of  steel  and  —  let  him  go !  There  are  no  students  of  applied 
psychology  like  the  women  of  the  half-world.  It  is  the  chief 
subject  in  the  Didascalion  I  have  mentioned,  and  Marie  Letellier 
was  proficient  in  it.  As  her  bright  brown  eyes  scanned  the  other 
woman  standing  there,  slim,  sweet,  and  cool,  a  film  of  envy  crept 
across  her  eyes,  for  she  herself  was  thirty  years  old  and  she 
could  not  forget  it. 

Minnie  broke  into  her  musings  with  a  bundle  of  used  things 


214  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

which  she  flung  into  the  trunk  and  brought  down  the  lid  with 
a  bang. 

"Where  are  we  going?"  she  asked,  picking  up  her  hat. 

"  Folies  Bergeres,"  said  Marie,  pulling  her  blouse  down  and 
going  over  to  the  dressing-table.  "  Zere  is  an  Inglish  company 
zere.     Ver'  good !  " 


IV 

THE  Channel  was  as  smooth  as  glass  as  the  two  women, 
heavily  clad,  leaned  on  the  lee  rail  and  talked  earnestly 
together.  They  were  travelling  second-class,  and  the 
stuffiness  of  the  cabin  had  driven  them  out  on  deck. 
At  intervals  they  could  see  a  light  flashing  on  the  English  shore, 
and  Minnie,  while  she  listened  to  her  friend's  story,  kept  her 
eyes  on  the  grey  line  now  coming  into  view,  waiting  for  the  flash. 
She  was  trying  to  understand  why  Marie  Letellier,  the  cool, 
experienced  woman  who  had  so  thoroughly  enjoyed  her  evening 
at  the  Folies  Bergeres,  was  confiding  the  story  of  her  early  life 
to  one  she  had  met  so  recently.  It  was  a  sad  story,  Minnie  ad- 
mitted, containing  elements  of  drama  which  her  own  lacked, 
and  it  was  told  with  an  intensity  she  herself  could  not  compass. 
Marie  had  been  at  school  near  Paris  and  had  been  allowed 
leave  to  visit  friends  in  the  City,  where  she  had  met  and  loved 
an  Englishman.  He  had  persuaded  her  to  marry  him,  and  she 
had  gone  back  to  school  with  their  secret  locked  in  her  breast. 
And  then  each  week-end  she  had  gone  to  Paris,  ostensibly  to 
visit  her  friends  as  before,  but  really  to  her  husband's  flat. 
With  a  certain  Gallic  verve  Marie  conveyed  to  Minnie  the  fear- 
ful joy  of  that  period,  and  Minnie's  hands  tightened  on  the 
gunwale  as  she  figured  it.  And  what  had  happened?  Well  — 
the  voice  of  Marie  dropped  to  a  whisper  —  one  night  she  had 
wakened  for  some  reason,  and  needing  a  drink  tried  in  vain  to 
rouse  her  husband.  She  shook  him,  in  vain,  for  he  was  dead. 
Ah,  mon  Dieu!  And  then  the  temporary  paralysis  of  brain, 
the  sudden  decision,  the  flight  back  to  school,  the  subsequent 
illness  and  removal  home.  Her  life,  Marie  insisted,  had  been 
blasted,  though  Minnie,  with  her  lack  of  imagination,  could  not 
see  it. 

To  her  the  Frenchwoman's  tragedy  was  of  her  own  making, 
the  product  of  sentiment  and  a  love  of  theatricality.  If  not, 
why  had  she  become  what  she  was?  Why  had  she  not  remained 
by  the  dead  man's  side  and  faced  the  thing  out?  Minnie  could 
not  understand.     She  stood  there  watching  the  great  light  under 

215 


216  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

Beachy  Head  flash  out  nearer  and  nearer,  stood  there  in  the 
pride  of  health  and  clear  intellect  and  perfect  nerve-poise,  un- 
able to  feel  the  throb  of  remorse  in  her  companion's  voice.  And 
the  Frenchwoman  felt  this  and  was  awed.  To  each  of  her  loves, 
however  evanescent,  however  mercenary,  she  gave  something  of 
herself.  With  each  passion  virtue  went  out  of  her.  But  with 
this  English  girl  it  was  different,  apparently.  To  her  it  was 
the  man  who  gave,  more  even  than  he  knew.  For  all  the  dif- 
ference it  had  made  to  her  soul,  she  was  as  virginal  as  when 
she  worked  at  the  factory  in  North  London.  "  I  need  you," 
Anthony  Gilfillan  had  said  to  her,  and  so  said  they  all.  For 
her,  she  had  no  need  of  them,  they  could  go  or  stay,  which  per- 
haps explained  why  they  often  stayed.  Marie,  gaining  intui- 
tively some  inkling  of  this  fundamental  fact,  shivered. 

"  You  zink  I  was  a  fool  ?  "  she  said. 

"  No,  no,"  said  Minnie,  taking  her  arm  and  walking  to  and 
fro.  u  Most  people  think  J  am  a  fool.  I  can't  —  I  can't  feel 
that  way." 

The  syren  let  out  a  long,  wailing  cry  which  ended  in  a  shriek. 
Minnie  looked  up  and  saw  the  dark  figures  striding  to  and  fro 
on  the  bridge.  She  thought  of  Captain  Briscoe,  and  remembered 
how  he  came  down  one  night,  his  face  wet  with  spray,  and  how 
she  had  seen  the  hard  bright  glitter  of  command  in  his  eyes 
soften  when  he  saw  her  curled  up  on  the  locker.  Men!  They 
needed  her. 

"  I  think  we're  going  in  now,"  she  said. 


IT  was  late  in  April  of  the  same  year  when  Minnie,  seated 
by  their  window  on  the  first  floor  in  Lower  Sloane  Street, 
put  down  the  morning  paper  and  watched  the  postman 
crossing  the  road.  For  over  two  months  she  had  been 
with  Marie  Letellier,  and  as  yet  that  woman  of  perfect  figure 
and  imperfect  saintliness  had  failed  to  fathom  her.  And  indeed 
Minnie  did  not  quite  understand  herself.  Accepting  the  French- 
woman's offer  of  tuition,  she  had  endeavoured  to  make  her  work 
a  success.  This  was  hardly  in  the  tacit  contract  which  lay  be- 
tween them.  The  two  assistants,  heavily  coiffured  girls  from 
Walham  Green  and  Streatham,  were  nonplussed  by  the  incon- 
gruity of  her  calm  air  of  superiority  and  the  bungling  incompe- 
tence of  her  work.  Minnie  ignored  them  and  smilingly  caressed 
her  friend,  who  deplored  such  a  turn  for  prudery,  and  visited 
her  favourite  resorts  alone  or  with  less  intimate  friends.  And 
yet  she  made  no  suggestion  that  Minnie  should  withdraw  from 
the  atmosphere  of  the  genteel  half-world.  For  she  had  con- 
ceived an  affection  for  the  cold  English  girl  who  took  her  oc- 
casional outbursts  of  emotional  excitement  without  rancour,  and 
had  such  a  fund  of  quiet  counsel  and  ironic  wisdom. 

Yet  Minnie  would  have  been  at  a  loss  to  explain  in  measured 
phrases  why  she  retreated  from  the  further  pursuit  of  the  exist- 
ence she  had  followed  for  four  or  five  years.  She  would  not 
have  admitted  that  Captain  Briscoe's  letter,  forwarded  her  from 
the  "  Three  Pigeons  "  had  influenced  her  so  far.  For  he  had 
written,  thinking  her  still  there,  regretting  his  behaviour  and 
asking  if  he  might  see  her  again.  She  had  sat  for  a  long  while 
thinking  over  that  letter,  and  wondering  whether  she  had  the 
courage  to  answer  it  or  just  let  him  drop  out  as  he  proposed 
to  do.  And  she  had  answered  it  frankly,  telling  him  how  she 
had  changed  her  plans  and  come  to  London,  that  she  supposed 
they  would  be  hardly  likely  to  meet  again,  but  expressing  no 
displeasure  at  the  possibility.  And  then  had  followed  the  blink 
silence  usual  when  one  corresponds  with  those  who  follow  the 

217 


218  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

sea.  All  her  worldly  knowledge,  all  her  common  sense,  told  her 
that  he  had  vanished.  She  did  not  disguise  from  herself  the 
fact  that  she  liked  him,  and  liked  him  the  better  for  his  letter. 
And,  in  spite  of  her  worldly  wisdom  and  her  common  sense,  she 
remained  absorbed  in  needle  and  thread,  and  wondering  at  in- 
tervals if  she  were  a  fool. 

And  now,  on  a  morning  late  in  April,  she  sat  at  the  window 
watching  the  postman  cross  the  road.  She  did  not  have  many 
letters  now.  She  had  not  told  Mrs.  Gaynor  of  her  coming  to 
London.  With  this  new  leaven  working  in  her  mind,  she  had 
grown  a  distrust  of  Mrs.  Gaynor.  When  she  wanted  to  see  her 
mother  she  would  go  to  her  direct,  she  decided.  She  had  no 
reason  to  suppose  that  she  would  have  any  letters  to-day.  Yet, 
when  Marie,  in  her  bronze-green  kimono  and  with  a  cigarette 
between  her  lips,  came  back  across  the  room  with  a  letter  in  her 
hand,  Minnie  saw  the  foreign  stamp  without  surprise.  She 
opened  it  and  read  it  calmly,  while  her  friend,  sinking  into  the 
chair  behind  her,  waited  for  news.  Minnie  raised  her  eyes  and 
met  the  Frenchwoman's  gaze  squarely. 

**  Yes,  Marie,  it  is  from  him.     What  do  you  think  of  that?  " 

"He  is  comin'  'ere?"  enquired  Marie,  and  Minnie  shrugged 
her  shoulders. 

"  That  depends.     He  is  coming  to  London." 

"To  you?" 

"He  says,  to  marry  me.     What  do  you  think  of  that?" 

"  Mon  Dieu !  "     Minnie  laughed. 

"  Not  bad  that !  You  don't  know  him.  He  says  he  has  an- 
other ship,  a  bigger  one,  '  a  command  '  he  calls  it,  with  more 
money  and  —  and  he  says  he  loves  me." 

"  But  marry !     For  why  ?  " 

"  I  should  like  to  get  married,"  remarked  Minnie,  in  a  low 
voice.     "  Very  much." 

"  You !     For  why  ?  "     The  voice  was  shrill. 

"  Children,  kids,  brats,  whatever  you  like  to  call  them.  Don't 
look  at  me  like  that,  Marie;  it's  a  fact  I  do.  Don't  you  ever 
want  .  .  .  want  .  .  .  oh ! "  And  Minnie  opened  her  arms, 
half-rose  from  her  chair  and  sank  back  into  quietness  again. 
Marie  Letellier  regarded  her  attentively,  blowing  thin  spirals 
into  the  air. 

"  'E  say  *e  love  you,  eh  ?     An'  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,"   replied  Minnie  in  her  usual  voice,   folding  up  the 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  219 

letter.  "  He  is  a  man.  I  don't  know  as  I'm  crazy  about  him, 
but  I  have  been  feeling  lately  that  I  ought  to  make  a  change. 
And  that's  what  it  all  amounts  to:  I  want  a  change." 

And  as  she  spoke  she  remembered  her  mother,  resolving  to 
go  and  see  her. 

"  An'  you  will  leave  'ere?  " 

"  I  suppose  so." 

"  Leave  me  'ere  all  'lone  ?  " 

"Good  Marie!"  Minnie  rose  and  put  her  hands  on  her 
friend's  shoulders.  "  When  are  you  ever  alone  ?  Answer  me 
that!" 

And  hard  upon  her  reply  to  his  agent  in  Billiter  Lane,  came 
an  impetuous  telegram  to  be  at  a  certain  place  at  a  certain  hour. 
She  went  out,  a  little  late,  and  found  him  fuming.  He  took 
possession  of  her,  carried  her  in  cabs  to  restaurant  and  theatre, 
ordering  wines  and  the  delicate  fruits  of  the  earth,  denouncing 
the  tyranny  of  female  relatives  in  sailorly  language,  and  damning 
the  world  in  general.  Evidently  he  had  been  drinking,  but 
not  deeply,  and  she  saw  with  a  certain  satisfaction  that  he 
scanned  his  change  correctly.  She  took  this  surprising  conduct 
good-humouredly,  appreciating  to  some  degree  the  natural  ela- 
tion of  a  man  raised  from  two  to  three  thousand  tons  net  register. 
His  new  ship  was  a  daisy,  and  she  could  have  ten  or  twelve 
pounds  a  month  to  keep  house  on.  Now,  would  that  be  enough? 
Because  if  not,  damn  him  if  he  wouldn't  draw  on  his  account. 
He  wasn't  going  to  have  the  dearest  little,  etc.,  etc.  She  cut  into 
his  baby-talk  with  a  hint  as  to  the  lateness  of  the  hour  and  he 
was  all  attention  at  once.  There  must  be  nothing  indiscreet 
now.  He  ordered  the  cabman  to  drive  toward  Sloane  Street, 
and  as  they  passed  through  the  solemn  gloom  of  Eaton  Square 
he  circled  her  finger  with  a  ring,  and  abandoned  coherence  for 
good  and  all.  In  Sloane  Square  she  insisted  gently  that  she 
must  leave  him  and  alighted,  ordering  the  hansom  to  return  to 
the  "  Three  Nuns,"  where  he  was  staying.  She  laughed  to  her- 
self as  she  answered  his  farewell  wave,  and  wondered  why  he 
should  choose  a  hotel  with  such  an  incongruous  title.  It  reminded 
her  of  the  "  Three  Pigeons  "  in  Rouen.  That  was  absurd  too. 
Everything  was  finely  absurd  to-night.  She  felt  the  elation  of 
those  who  win  though  unaided.  Her  independence  of  soul  had 
remained  immaculate.     Once  more  she  reflected  with  pride  that 


220  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

a  man  needed  her,  and  she  had  been  successful  in  concealing  her 
own  longings.  After  all,  the  fripperies  of  love,  the  flowers,  the 
lights,  the  implied  sentiment  of  the  ring  were  pleasant.  With 
a  start  she  recalled  that  early  affair  with  the  coal-agent's  clerk. 
Had  she  dealt  unkindly  by  him?  Involuntarily  she  shook  her 
head.  In  the  perspective  of  the  years  her  cruelties,  her  uncon- 
ventionalities,  were  but  a  part  of  life.  He  was  probably  happy 
now  with  a  girl  whom  he  could  understand.  Her  mother? 
Well,  there  she  admitted  freely  to  herself  as  she  undressed,  that 
there  was  something  to  be  done.  She  had  the  sense  to  know, 
and  feel  shame  in  the  knowing,  that  her  mother  came  out  of  this 
business  more  bravely  than  she.  She  decided  that  she  would 
go  and  see  her  mother.  The  thought  carried  her  on  to  a  matter 
of  which  she  profoundly  disapproved,  and  that  was  her  mother's 
dependence  on  Uncle  George.  She  wondered  if  after  these 
years  of  separation  she  would  be  able  to  live  with  her  mother. 
Or  better  still,  when  she  was  married,  why  could  not  her  mother 
come  and  live  with  her?  She  was  thinking  of  this  as  she  fell 
asleep,  and  it  was  not  until  next  morning  that  she  remembered 
there  was  Hannibal.  Little  Hanny  would  be  big  Hanny  now, 
and  she  had  no  intention  of  taking  him  in  as  well.  That  was 
a  difficulty,  and  she  decided  to  go  down  and  see  them. 

For  Marie  Letellier  she  had  but  the  flimsiest  of  compassions. 
That  emotional  being  regarded  marriage  much  as  a  libertine 
regards  children,  with  a  mushy  sentiment,  unstable  and  only 
half-sincere.  She  had  a  habit  of  sighing  when  matrimony  was 
mentioned  with  an  "  Ah,  not  for  me !  "  expression  on  her  face. 
It  was  extraordinary  how  much  comfort  this  capable  woman 
extracted  from  her  early  tragedy  without  ever  permitting  it  to 
hamper  her  practical  everyday  business  of  extracting  money 
from  the  world  and  his  wife.  It  was  this  trait  which  extorted 
Minnie's  admiration.  There  was  no  earthly  reason  why  Marie 
Letellier  should  not  be  as  respectable  a  widow  as  any  other 
dressmaker  in  southwest  London;  only  her  temperament  forbade 
it.  Sensuality  had  for  her  the  same  fascination  that  sensuous- 
ness  had  for  Mrs.  Wilfley.  It  is  not  too  much  to  say  that,  had 
they  met,  they  could  have  fallen  in  love  with  each  other.  In- 
deed, I  have  often  wondered  whether  they  did  not  eventually 
collide,  and  I  have  figured  the  dishevelled  Marie  pouring  her 
terrible  story  into  the  ears  of  a  lady  with  a  note-book  on  her 
knee,  a  lady  who  could  not  hold  back  her  tears  but  leaned  her 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  221 

head  on  Marie's  shoulder  and  "  sobbed  like  a  little  child,"  as 
she  herself  told  a  reporter.  And  then  I  see  on  the  bookstalls 
among  the  best  sellers  a  slim  pale  volume  on  whose  cover  is  a 
pierced  and  bleeding  heart,  and  I  read  the  title  The  Licensees 
of  Love.  A  card  sticks  from  the  pages  informing  me  of  a  new 
and  enlarged  edition  just  out,  and  as  I  hurry  along  the  corridors 
of  subterranean  London,  I  see  posters  —  for  Mrs.  Wilfley  will 
be  a  person  of  importance  then  —  posters  showing  her  in  her 
best  soul's  awakening  pose,  raising  a  transfigured  Marie  Letellier 
from  a  stern  and  rockbound  sea.  Nothing  would  please  either 
of  them  better  than  such  publicity.  It  is  quite  possible  that 
Marie  was  the  original  of  Mrs.  Wilfley 's  Magdalens  of  May  fair, 
published  under  the  auspices  of  Lady  Gophir  in  aid  of  her 
Refuge.  Popular  taste  had  come  round  to  Mrs.  Wilfley 's  way 
of  thinking,  and  as  becomes  an  astute  business  woman  she  was 
there  with  the  goods.  People  wished  to  know  how  these  poor 
creatures  to  whom  men  paid  the  wages  of  sin  (sometimes  as  low 
as  ten  pounds  a  week)  lived.  Mrs.  Wilfley  knew  and  sold  her 
knowledge,  sobs  included,  photos  extra.  We  may  even  imagine 
her  drawing  from  the  willing  Marie  the  story  of  how  she  met 
an  English  girl  abroad  (sensation  in  the  Sunday  papers !)  and 
induced  her  to  come  to  London.  Mrs.  Wilfley  would  make  a 
good  thing  out  of  that. 

The  English  girl,  however,  did  not  permit  these  considerations 
to  alter  her  purpose,  and  when  Marie  weakened  to  tears  (this 
was  on  Sunday  morning,  when  most  women  of  her  class  weep) 
Minnie  shook  her. 

"  Do  for  goodness'  sake  be  sensible,"  she  remarked.  "  Any 
one  would  think  you  had  something  to  cry  for.  Marie,  how 
much  money  have  you  in  the  bank?  " 

"  Tree  —  tree  'undred  an'  forty  poun',"  said  Marie,  lowering 
her  handkerchief. 

"  And  the  business  ?  And  your  health  ?  And  plenty  of 
friends?     And  me  only  going  round  to  Tedworth  Square?" 

"  You  will  not  see  me  when  you  marry !  "  the  huddled  figure 
in  the  bed  announced  gloomily.  "  I  know  ze  Inglish  madame. 
You  will  spoil  yourself." 

"  Fat  lot  you  know,  old  girl.  Get  up  and  dress.  You're 
growing  lazy." 

Minnie  met  her  gallant  captain  an  hour  later  at  Victoria  Sta- 
tion, where  she  instructed  him  in  the  ways  of  Sunday  trippers 


222  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

to  Brighton.  He  was,  for  all  his  million  miles  of  ocean  travel, 
nearly  as  unsophisticated  as  a  young  man  from  the  country. 
The  luxury  of  Pullman  travel  was  new  to  him ;  the  plated  fittings, 
the  telephone  by  which  he  ordered  a  whisky  and  soda  for  him- 
self and  a  glass  of  port  for  her,  the  adjustable  seat  backs,  all 
excited  his  pleasure.  He  was  one  of  those  men,  so  common  at 
sea,  who  have  really  no  idea  at  all  of  enjoying  themselves  except 
in  a  disreputable  manner.  This  manner  with  the  years  becomes 
distasteful  to  them,  they  sink  into  themselves,  grow  morose  and 
taciturn,  and  the  result  is  that  bleak  phenomenon,  a  merchant 
skipper.  Captain  Briscoe  had  gone  to  sea  when  he  was  eleven 
years  old,  and  being  now  forty,  had  spent  about  sixty  per  cent 
of  his  total  existence  upon  the  ocean.  As  the  train  fled  away 
through  the  smiling  country  that  Sunday  morning,  he  realised 
how  little  of  life's  ease  he  had  had.  He  was  inordinately  proud 
of  the  woman  at  his  side.  Ah !  he  knew  an  A  1  copper-bottomed 
craft  when  he  saw  one!  Now  he  would  have  a  home  of  his  own 
and  a  dear  darling  little  wifie,  etc,  etc.  The  reflections  of  a 
sea-faring  man  are  very  much  like  those  of  a  bank  clerk  or  any 
other  man  in  the  same  position.  Suffice  it  that  Captain  Briscoe 
had  the  unusual  experience  of  feeling  himself  a  thoroughly  re- 
spectable engaged  man  and  yet  a  bit  of  a  dog  for  all  that.  He 
had  read  of  trips  to  Brighton,  and  here  he  was,  travelling 
Pullman  and  all  the  rest  of  it.  After  all  he  could  afford  it.  He 
had  grown  so  accustomed  to  investing  his  money  that  he  had 
almost  forgotten  that  he  could  afford  it. 

And  coming  back  in  the  evening  had  been  the  capping  of  a 
perfect  day.  It  might  be  surmised  that  he,  having  spent  so 
many  weary  years  at  sea,  would  have  no  supreme  emotion  at 
the  sight  of  it  from  Brighton  Pier.  But  Captain  Briscoe's  sea 
was  very  different  from  the  boat-flecked  panorama  which  con- 
fronted them  at  every  turn,  the  gay  esplanade,  the  music  and 
minstrelsy  of  the  populous  beaches,  the  toy  breakers  that  rolled 
lazily  in  the  sunshine.  At  times  he  looked  out  at  it  grimly  as 
he  remembered  some  particularly  strenuous  gale  off  Hatteras 
or  the  joys  of  getting  away  from  Valparaiso  with  the  Norther 
hard  behind  him.     The  memory  gave  the  present  a  greater  zest. 

She  told  him  in  the  train,  as  they  returned  to  Victoria,  of  her 
intention  to  visit  her  mother  and  her  proposal  to  take  her  to 
live  in  the  flat  in  Tedworth  Square. 

"  A  very  good  idea ! "  he  agreed,  pleased  at  the  opportune 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  223 

appearance  of  a  relative.  It  seemed  to  cut  Minnie  off  from 
her  past  life,  for  her  to  produce  a  relative.  "  But  we  aren't 
goin'  to  live  down  there  for  long,  eh?  I  thought  of  a  place  in 
the  country,  with  a  few  fowls  and  a  pig.  I  always  wanted  to 
be  a  farmer." 

Sublime  illusion! 

-'  Later  on,"  she  soothed  him.     "  When  you've  retired." 

"  It's  unlucky  to  talk  about  that,"  he  reminded  her.  "  No 
seagoing  man  ever  speaks  about  swallowing  the  anchor." 

"  Why  do  you  call  it  that  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Well,  it's  a  pretty  hard  thing  to  do,"  he  replied  briefly, 
and  his  blue  eyes  grew  grave  as  he  recalled  cases  to  his  mind  of 
men  who  had  tried  to  do  it,  tried  to  fling  from  their  souls  the 
terrible  thrall  of  the  sea. 

"  And  the  country's  rather  awful  in  the  winter,"  she  was 
saying  as  the  great  yellow  face  of  the  clock-tower  came  into 
view. 

"  That's  right,"  he  agreed.  "  London's  not  so  bad  after  all. 
It's  a  friendly  place."  And  he  really  felt  as  though  he  were 
coming  home. 

"  It's  home  to  me,"  she  assented.  "  And  there's  another 
thing,  George.     I've  an  idea  I  might  make  some  money  here." 

He  looked  at  her  in  alarm.     What  did  she  mean? 

"  It's  like  this,"  she  explained.  "  When  I  was  here,  a  long 
time  ago,  I  knew  a  woman  who  wrote  things." 

"Wrote  things?"  he  repeated  vaguely. 

"  I  can't  explain  very  well,"  she  said.  "  I'm  not  sure  it  would 
come  to  anything.  But  when  I  get  settled  I'm  going  to  have 
a  try.     I've  been  thinking." 

He  gazed  at  her  in  admiration.  What  a  clever  little  woman 
she  was! 

"  There's  no  need  for  you  to  earn  money,"  he  declared 
proudly.  "  /  can  do  that.  You  leave  it  alone,  whatever  it  is.  I 
want  my  wife  to  be  a  lady !  " 

"  It's  not  unladylike,"  she  replied,  "  and  we  might  as  well 
have  as  much  money  as  we  can  get.  I  shall  have  a  lot  of  time 
on  my  hands." 

"  You  can  do  sewing,"  he  suggested  jocularly,  and  her  lip 
curled. 

"  Not  in  my  line,"  she  returned  coldly,  "  and  there's  no  money 
in  it." 


224  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

She  did  not  pursue  the  matter  further  at  the  time,  for  the  idea 
that  had  taken  possession  of  her  mind  was  indeed  too  shadowy 
yet  to  put  into  words.  13ut  it  was  true  that  she  had  been  think- 
ing, and  as  the  future  proved,  thinking  to  some  purpose.  Often, 
during  the  past  few  years,  her  thoughts  had  gone  back  to  Mrs. 
Wilfley  and  that  lady's  connection  with  publicity.  Had  she 
missed  a  chance  in  not  staying  with  Mrs.  Wilfley?  Too  late 
to  bother  about  that  now.  But  it  had  become  a  habit  with  her 
to  scan  the  papers  and  magazines  that  came  her  way,  noting 
the  advertising  matter  and  wondering  if  Mrs.  Wilfley  had  written 
it.  Everywhere  she  would  see  whole  pages  devoted  to  the  Gil- 
fillan  Filament,  pages  of  glowing  rhetoric  framed  in  allegorical 
designs  by  eminent  artists.  And  then,  in  a  reckless  mood,  she 
had  wondered  whether  she  could  not  do  "  that  sort  of  thing." 
She  had  ideas,  she  was  sure.  If  she  could  only  get  a  start.  .  .  . 
That  would  take  too  much  time,  she  had  reflected,  and  put  the 
subject  out  of  her  mind.  But  now  that  she  was  going  to  be 
independent,  the  idea  had  come  back.  She  had  experience  of 
life  now.  If  another  woman  could  do  it,  she  could  do  it.  But 
since  the  man  at  her  side  did  not  like  the  notion,  since  in  his 
opinion  it  was  unwomanly,  she  would  say  no  more.  She  must 
be  a  lady,  do  nothing.  Very  well.  She  would  wait  until  he 
was  away  at  sea  again,  and  then  she  would  have  a  look  round. 


BOOK  THREE 
THE  SEA 


*  To  all  whose  souls  are  weary, 

To  all  whose  souls  are  sad 
With  piteous  days  or  dreary, 

To  all  whose  hearts  are  glad 
The  great  se"a's  soul  ha*  spoken, 

The  great  sea  brings  release, 
And  even  hearts  half-broken 

Win  something  of  Us  peace." 


MRS.  GOODERICH  sat  near  the  carefully  curtained 
window  of  her  house,  or  rather  her  one-third  of 
a  house  in  Jubilee  Street,  E.  The  third  consisted 
of  the  use  of  the  front  passage,  the  ground  floor 
fronts,  and  a  curious  middle  chamber,  lighted  by  transoms,  which 
served  as  a  scullery  and  coal-shed.  The  ground  floor  back  was 
ruled  by  an  Irish  woman  from  Cavan,  who  also  washed  for  a 
very  respectable  Bohemian  family  who  disseminated  themselves 
over  the  rest  of  the  house.  The  Bohemian  family  had  evidently 
seen  better  days,  probably  before  Bohemia  got  its  bad  name; 
they  were  astonishingly  quick  to  see  the  respectability  of  Mrs. 
Gooderich,  who  had  curtains,  and  the  impossibility  of  the  Irish 
woman  from  Cavan,  who  had  none.  They  at  once  invested  in 
curtains,  and  there  they  were  at  the  upper  windows,  the  colour 
being  that  sombre  grey  which  is  the  London  equivalent  for  white, 
and  providing  for  the  Bohemian  females  an  effective  screen 
behind  which  they  could  look  down  at  life  in  Jubilee  Street  or 
peer  curiously  across  at  the  occasional  excitement  of  a  scuffle, 
a  fight,  or  an  arrest  in  Assembly  Passage.  They  tell  me  that 
all  this  is  changed  now,  that  Jubilee  Street  is  so  congested  with 
respectable  people  that  Irishwomen  from  Cavan  and  anarchists 
from  Oran  are  crying  out,  "  No  room  to  live!  ";  that  Assembly 
Passage  is  a  Valley  of  Peace,  and  policemen  no  longer  find  it 
expedient  to  patrol  it  in  couples.  It  sounds  Utopian  and  unreal ; 
if  it  is  true,  who  shall  despair  of  the  Ultimate  Reclamation  of 
the  World? 

It  was  a  bright  and  eager  spring  day  and  about  half-past  four 
in  the  afternoon  that  Mrs.  Gooderich  sat  near  her  curtains  oc- 
cupied with  a  book.  For  she  had  of  late  years  discovered,  some- 
what to  her  surprise,  that  reading  "  took  her  mind  off  her 
worries."  Certainly  she  did  not  discover  this  while  she  had 
such  worries  as  her  husband's  death,  her  daughter's  defection 
from  the  Right,  her  elder  boy's  brief  but  glorious  career  in 
South  Africa,  and  the  loss  of  her  position  as  a  home-keeping 

227 


228  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

woman.  They  had  left  her  small  time  for  reading;  but  now, 
in  the  lull  of  the  past  four  or  five  years,  with  no  greater  worry 
than  a  somewhat  unstable  Hannibal,  she  had  been  led  by  Mrs. 
Gaynor,  be  it  said,  to  follow  the  fortunes  of  heroes  and  heroines 
as  described  by  certain  masters  and  mistresses  of  Romance. 
As  she  sits  there,  bending  her  head  over  her  book,  following 
the  words  pointed  out  by  her  finger  through  spectacles  that  add 
twenty  years  to  her  age,  and  whispering  inaudibly  to  herself, 
she  is  greatly  changed  from  the  dark-haired,  blue-eyed  little 
creature  who  stood  before  the  late  Mr.  Royce  in  his  nice  little 
house  in  Caroline  Road  so  long  —  well,  twenty-four  years  ago. 
And  there  is  a  change  from  the  slightly  hysterical  widow  who 
stood  facing  her  recalcitrant  daughter  that  windy  autumn  day 
in  Mrs.  Gaynor's  front  room.  When  a  woman  drops  in  social 
position  from  two  servants  to  one,  or  from  one  to  a  weekly  char- 
woman, her  spirit  is  unbroken;  she  can  brazen  it  out  and  defy 
the  neighbours  to  prove  it  isn't  because  she  is  independent  and 
prefers  to  do  her  own  work.  But  when  she  ceases  to  be  her 
own  servant  and  enters  the  service  of  another,  when  a  thriving 
brother-in-law,  instead  of  leaving  her  to  die  in  her  indigence, 
perpetuates  that  indigence  by  "  putting  her  in  the  way  "  of  a 
debasing  employment,  then  there  comes  a  change  in  the  outward 
seeming.  She  can  no  longer  brazen  it  out  even  to  herself;  a 
terrible  apathy  becomes  visible  upon  her.  As  she  confronts  you, 
you  see  in  her  shoulders  humility,  in  her  hands  unwilling  respect ; 
but  in  her  eyes  there  slumbers  an  impotent  anger,  and  her 
mouth  has  the  tremulous  droop  of  despair. 

Mrs.  Gooderich  read  on  in  her  romance,  and  as  we  see  her, 
she  looks  not  unhappy.  But  ever  and  anon  she  looks  through 
the  window  and  up  Assembly  Passage  as  though  expecting  a 
familiar  figure.  There  is  no  one  visible  in  the  Passage  save 
some  four  or  five  youths  who  are  loitering  near  a  blacksmith's 
shop.  As  Mrs.  Gooderich  looks  up  she  sees  one  of  the  boys 
dart  from  the  shop  pursued  by  a  tall  and  powerful  old  man  in  a 
smith's  apron.  He  clutches  the  youth  by  the  shoulder,  but  quick 
as  lightning  the  lad  twists  his  arms  from  the  sleeves  and  follows 
his  companions  in  a  wild  stampede  into  Jubilee  Street.  The 
tall  old  smith  is  left  standing  with  the  coat  in  his  hand. 

Mrs.  Gooderich  put  down  her  book  and  stood  behind  the 
curtains,  an  expression  of  pain  on  her  shrunken  features  as  she 
looked  out  upon  this  scene.     After  a  moment's  hesitation,  she 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  229 

went  out  and  opened  the  front  door.  The  youths  were  leaning 
against  the  wall  opposite  laughing  among  themselves;  the  coat- 
less  one  regarded  with  glances  of  admiration. 

"  Hanny!  "  called  Mrs.  Gooderich,  and  the  youth  turned,  the 
laugh  dying  away. 

Come  here !  "  and  he  came,  hands  in  pockets,  dissatisfaction 
on  his  face.     "Where's  your  coat?" 

"  Lost  it." 

"  I  saw  how  you  lost  it.  How  often  'ave  I  told  you  to  keep 
away  from  that  lot?  You  take  no  more  notice  o'  me  than  if 
I  spoke  to  the  lamp-post." 

She  closed  the  door  and  followed  him  into  the  room. 

"  You'll  stay  here  while  I  go  and  speak  to  Mr.  Gills,"  she 
ordered,  and  she  put  on  her  hat  with  trembling  fingers.  "  You 
can't  think  how  I  hate  to  have  to  go  to  respectable  people  about 
a  tiling  like  that.  It  was  bad  enough  when  you  got  the  sack. 
You  might  behave  yourself  till  you  get  something  to  do !  " 

He  tat  sullenly  in  a  chnir,  hands  in  pockets,  his  feet  spread 
out  with  the  heels  dug  into  the  floor.  He  remained  in  this 
posture  while  his  mother  crossed  the  road  and  disappeared  into 
the  blacksmith's  shop.  His  liquid  full  brown  eyes  were  clouded 
with  moody  self-reproaching  anger.  He  knew  it  was  all  wrong, 
this  tearing  about  the  streets,  this  wanton  pilfering  and  bell- 
ringing.  He  ought  to  be  at  work.  That  was  the  respectable 
thing  for  him,  a  great  lout  of  nearly  eighteen.  But  he  had  got 
"  fed  up "  with  Cortington's  Repositories,  the  devil  of  "  lark- 
ing "  had  led  him  too  far,  and  on  the  previous  Saturday  the 
foreman  had  given  him  his  money.  What  would  it  all  end  in? 
His  mother  with  some  asperity  had  told  him  he  would  go  wrong. 
The  son  of  the  Irishwoman  from  Cavan  had  gone  wrong  al- 
ready, had  stolen  a  watch  one  night  in  the  Great  Assembly  Hall 
and  had  got  "  pinched."  The  Bohemian  family  never  had  any 
disgrace  like  that.  With  an  almost  uncanny  facility  they  had 
got  themselves  into  divers  occupations,  living  malodorously  be- 
hind their  grey  curtains,  but  with  no  breath  of  scandal  ever 
hanging  about  their  stairway.  WTith  the  lack  of  logic  often  as- 
sociated with  villainy,  Hannibal  disliked  the  industrious  swarm 
upstairs.  Why  didn't  they  stop  in  their  own  country,  instead 
of  taking  bread  out  of  the  mouths  of  Englishmen?  This  argu- 
ment was  not  Hannibal's,  of  course,  he  had  it  from  a  man  in  the 
Repositories,  a  man  who  had  strong  views  about  aliens. 


230  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

He  was  sunk  in  one  of  his  sullen  moods  when  his  mother  re- 
turned and  flung  his  coat  over  to  him. 

"  It's  gettin'  past  a  joke!  "  she  broke  out  at  him,  as  she  took 
off  her  hat.  "  I'll  go  over  and  see  your  uncle  at  Kennin'ton  to- 
morrow morning,  and  see  if  he  can't  put  you  to  somethin'. 
Nothin'  I  say  makes  any  difference.  It's  stealin',  no  less,  what- 
ever your  beautiful  friends  call  it." 

He  made  no  reply,  but  sat  looking  down  at  the  floor. 

She  looked  at  him  with  attention  for  a  moment. 

"  What's  the  matter  with  you,  Hanny  ?  "  she  cried.  "  Why 
don't  you  put  your  coat  on  ?  " 

"  I'd  no',"  he  grunted.     "  Can't  'ave  a  bit  of  a  lark  now." 

"  Bit  of  a  lark !  To  steal  an  honest  man's  iron  so  you  can  go 
sell  it  in  the  Mile  End  Road  and  buy  cigarettes?  It's  sort  of 
lark  you'll  get  six  months  for,  my  boy,  and  so  you  would  this 
time  if  Mr.  Gills  weren't  a  gentleman." 

"  Oh,  all  right,  all  right.  I  ain't  pinchin'  'is  old  iron  all  the 
time,  am  I  ?  " 

"  You  tell  your  uncle  that." 

"  I  ain't  goin'  to  tell  'im  anything.  I  ain't  goin'  to  'ave  any 
truck  with  'im." 

"  Why  not  ?  "  demanded  his  mother,  setting  the  table.  Her 
voice  faltered,  for  she  knew  in  her  heart  she  agreed  with  the  boy. 

"  Don't  like  him,"  growled  Hannibal,  getting  slowly  into  the 
coat.  It  is  noteworthy  and  curious  that  the  mute  anger  which 
had  flared  into  Minnie's  eyes  when  she  heard  of  her  uncle's  gen- 
erous provision  for  her  mother,  had  its  counterpart  in  Hannibal's 
untutored  and  undeveloped  soul.  And  Mrs.  Gooderich,  lifting 
her  head  to  speak,  felt  the  invisible  power  of  this  antipathy, 
felt  a  responsive  something  in  her  own  humiliated  heart,  and 
was  silent. 

"  Come  and  get  your  tea,"  she  said  at  length.  "  I  must  be 
off  by  half-past  five."  Hannibal  drew  his  chair  to  the  table  and 
began. 

"  What  are  you  goin'  to  do  ?  "  she  asked.  "  I  can't  keep  you 
'ere  eating  your  'ead  off."     Hannibal  squirmed  in  his  chair. 

"  Give  me  a  chance,"  he  mumbled,  his  mouth  full.  "  I'll  'ave 
a  look  roun'."     Mrs.  Gooderich  sighed. 

It  is  due  to  her  to  say  that  she  did  not  sigh  from  mere  selfish 
grief.  She  had  never  expected  fortune  to  be  particularly  kind 
to  her;  she  had  always  been  thankful  that  she  was  a  respectable 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  231 

woman  instead  of  a  nameless  derelict.  She  sighed  because  of 
the  apparent  futility  of  her  life,  because  she  seemed  so  help- 
less before  her  children.  Minnie  and  Bert  had  simply  ignored 
her,  and  what  was  the  result?  Minnie  was  a  lost  one,  a  shame- 
less denizen  of  the  half-world  whence  she  herself  had  been  res- 
cued in  the  nick  of  time.  Bert,  against  her  wishes,  had  gone 
into  the  Army,  had  rushed  gallantly  to  meet  fate,  and  fate  had 
met  him  more  than  halfway  in  the  shape  of  a  Schneider  shell 
that  had  smashed  him  to  a  blackened  pulp.  There  they  were 
on  the  grained  and  varnished  wall  behind  her  now,  Minnie  al- 
most faded  out  of  recognition,  a  demure  damsel  of  fifteen,  Bert 
in  a  group  of  his  chums,  with  their  yellow  uniforms  coming  out 
badly  in  the  photo,  and  their  dog,  who  had  moved  and  so  seemed 
to  have  two  heads.  Was  she  proud  of  her  soldier-son  ?  Who  can 
say,  since  she  never  spoke  of  him?  Nor  can  we  speak  with  ex- 
actitude of  her  feelings  towards  that  wilful  daughter  now  that 
time  had  softened  the  hard  .outlines  of  her  wrongdoing. 

And  now  little  Hanny  was  growing  insurgent  too,  and  she 
sighed  as  she  cut  the  bread  and  spread  it  with  margarine.  Lit- 
tle Hanny,  who  was  a  head  taller  than  his  mother,  ate  without 
speaking  after  his  appeal  for  a  chance.  He  ought  to  have  some 
one  to  look  after  him  in  the  evenings,  but  what  could  she  do? 
It  was  sometimes  nine  or  half-past  before  she  had  finished  in 
the  City.  She  had  tried  to  get  him  to  "  go  in  "  for  something 
at  the  People's  Palace,  but  Hannibal  was  not  that  kind  of  a  lad. 
The  Bohemian  family  took  to  the  People's  Palace  with  avidity, 
lapping  up  knowledge  in  the  classes  and  developing  their  Slavonic 
muscles  in  the  gymnasium  from  September  to  May,  another  ex- 
ample of  alien  presumption.  But  not  so  Hannibal.  Later  on, 
as  we  shall  sec,  he  acquired  the  reading  habit,  with  disastrous 
results,  but  for  study  and  the  social  fidgets  he  had  no  facility. 
Behind  the  Bohemian  curtains  there  was  a  silver  shield,  won 
by  the  juvenilia  for  athletic*,  and  on  the  mantelpiece  they 
snowed  their  friends  with  pride  an  ormolu  clock,  the  reward  of 
the  second  daughter  for  swinging  Indian  clubs  for  an  unheard-of 
time.  Mr.  Gills's  little  boy,  even,  a  precocious  Christian  of 
five-and-a-half,  had  sung  a  solo  at  the  Assembly  Hall,  which, 
so  it  was  rumoured,  had  brought  sinners  staggering  to  the  peni- 
tent form.  Hannibal  had  shown  no  signs  of  eminence  in  any 
department  of  life.  He  himself  was  dissatisfied,  though  it  is 
not  in  youth  to  admit  it.     The  natural  prankishness  of  adoles- 


232  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

cence  had  led  him  away  from  those  strange  dreams  of  his  child- 
hood, those  dreams  in  which  he  saw  the  phantoms  come  and 
go,  and  Cortington's  Repositories  were  no  place  to  dream  in. 
Cortington's  Repositories,  in  fact,  were  a  pretty  good  miniature 
of  the  whole  world  to  Hannibal,  being  a  dusty,  noisy  place,  full 
of  other  people's  property.  Hannibal  was  "  fed  up  "  with  them, 
which  was  equivalent  to  saying  he  was  fed  up  with  the  world 
as  he  found  it.  To  dart  into  Mr.  Gills's  shop,  seize  an  old  file, 
a  hammer,  a  nail-head  or  a  piece  of  bar-iron,  vanish  round  the 
corner  into  Jubilee  Street,  stroll  through  Stepney  Green  and  out 
into  the  Mile  End  Road,  and  bargain  with  the  Russian  Jew 
who  kept  the  second-hand  tool  and  metal  shop  —  well,  it  might 
not  be  respectable,  but  oh!  it  was  a  blessed  change  from  the 
eternal  expression  of  the  Repositories.  He  was  not  a  bad  boy. 
Had  he  been  sent  to  Eton  at  thirteen  and  Balliol  at  eighteen 
he  would  have  turned  out  an  admired  specimen  for  the  govern- 
ing-classes, though  he  had  no  faculty  for  governing.  Had  he 
gone  to  Merchant  Taylors  and  passed  into  an  old-established 
business,  he  would  have  proved  a  fair  though  somewhat  dreamy 
junior  partner  with  a  taste  for  bric-a-brac  and  Persian  Prints. 
But  he  was  none  of  these  things.  He  had,  according  to  the  Log- 
Cabin-to-White-House  school,  an  equal  chance  with  others  to 
become  Lord  Chancellor  or  President  of  the  Board  of  Trade. 
I  do  not  think  he  had.  As  I  have  said,  he  lacked  the  vital  spark 
of  heavenly  flame  which  is  indispensable  if  one  is  to  become  a 
Lord  Chancellor  of  a  kingdom,  President  of  a  Republic  or  a 
Captain  of  Industry.  He  had  nothing  of  the  sublime  genius 
of  a  Lipton,  a  Roosevelt,  or  an  Alfred  Jones.  While  in  the  Re- 
positories he  had  no  hair-raising  schemes  for  economising  the 
expenses  of  storing  pianos,  no  heaven-born  invention  for  simpli- 
fying the  work  and  so  throwing  half  the  staff  out  of  employ- 
ment. He  has  given  the  biographer,  so  far,  very  little  material 
for  rhetoric.  Lacking  the  genius  for  making  opportunity,  he 
had  had  none.  Evidently  he  has  no  turn  for  Greatness.  The 
Bohemian  family  have  long  since  outstripped  him  in  the  race,  one 
of  them  even  attaining  to  Cambridge  and  a  wranglership.  Some- 
thing must  be  done  with  him.  Mrs.  Gooderich  travelling  City- 
ward on  the  Aldgate  train  is  wondering.  Hannibal  himself,  as 
he  lounges  along  the  Mile  End  Road,  is  wondering.  Possibly  the 
reader,  if  he  has  survived  so  far,  is  wondering  too. 
Let  us  see. 


II 

IT  was  just  eleven  o'clock  next  morning  that  Mrs.  Goode- 
rich, pausing  in  her  efforts  to  tidy  up  the  front  room, 
looked  through  the  curtains  and  beheld  Mrs.  Gaynor  and 
her  son  Hiram  pushing  open  the  gate  and  approaching  the 
door  of  her  home.  Mrs.  Gaynor's  visits  to  her  old  friend  had 
not  been  very  frequent.  The  difficulties  in  those  days  of  trav- 
elling from  a  northern  suburb  to  Mile  End  Road  were  sufficient 
to  deter  the  most  hardy  explorer.  You  may  go  to  Japan  via  Si- 
beria at  the  present  time  with  less  anxiety  and  exhaustion. 

"  Well  now,  how  are  you?  "  said  Mrs.  Gaynor  when  the  door 
opened.     "  I  dare  say  you  didn't  expect  me,  did  you  ?  " 

"  No,  I  can't  say  I  did,"  said  Mrs.  Gooderich,  leading  the 
way  into  the  front  room.  "  What's  brought  you  down  here  so 
early?" 

"  Hiram,"  snid  Mrs.  Gaynor.  "  I  was  going  down  to  see  his 
ship  and  I  thought  I'd  make  one  journey  of  it  and  see  you  too." 

Mrs.  Goodericli  looked  at  Hiram,  who  smiled  pleasantly  and 
stood  turning  his  cap  over.  He  was  dressed  in  the  uniform  of 
the  Merchant  Service  Apprentice,  a  double-breasted  coat  of  pilot 
cloth  with  big  brass  buttons,  and  his  cap  was  adorned  with  gold 
cord  and  a  badge.  His  cheerful  face  was  as  brown  as  a  berry, 
as  were  his  hands,  which  were  big  and  muscular,  the  happy  result 
of  much  strenuous  toil. 

H  He  does  look  well,"  sighed  Mrs.  Gooderich,  and  Hiram's 
mother  regarded  him  with  approval. 

"  Why  don't  you  send  Hannibal  to  sea  ?  "  she  asked,  when  they 
were  seated.     "  It  'ed  do  him  a  world  of  good." 

"  What  can  I  do?  "  complained  Mrs.  Gooderich.  "  I  thought 
he  was  doin'  well  at  the  Repositories,  and  now  they've  discharged 
him  without  a  reference.  He's  so  rowdy  too,  and  he  won't  listen. 
If  I  was  to  suggest  anything  he'd  go  against  it  for  certain." 

"  That's  so,"  assented  Mrs.  Gaynor.  "  That  is  so.  I  shouldn't 
suggest  it.     Just  pack  him  off." 

"  How!     I  don't  know  anybody.     I'm  sure  I'd  be  very  glad, 

233 


234  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

though  I've  no  great  fancy  for  a  child  of  mine  to  be  a  sailor  and 
get  drowned." 

"  We  don't  all  get  drowned,  Mrs.  Gooderich,"  said  Hiram, 
laughing.  "  I've  been  to  sea  two  years  and  here  I  am  safe  as 
houses." 

"  Yes,  but  you  might.     There's  always  a  danger." 

"  So  there  is  in  the  Cambridge  Heath  Road/'  said  Mrs.  Gay- 
nor.     "  I  was  nearly  run  over  this  morning." 

Mrs.  Gooderich  smiled. 

"  One  gets  used  to  it  —  all  this  traffic  —  after  a  time." 

**  If  you'd  like  to  get  Hannibal  away  on  a  ship,  Mrs.  Goode- 
rich, I'll  speak  to  the  Skipper.  He  might  know  of  a  chance," 
said  Hiram.  "  It's  hard  work  though,  and  hard  grub  too. 
P'raps  he  wouldn't  like  it?  " 

"  I  'ardly  know  what  to  do,"  she  replied  wearily.  "  Where  is 
your  ship  ?  " 

"  Surrey  Commercial  Docks." 

"And  there's  Hannibal,  isn't  it?"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Gaynor, 
pointing  with  her  umbrella.  Hannibal  was  visible  leaning 
against  the  wall  across  the  road,  a  cigarette  in  his  mouth,  con- 
versing with  another  youth.  Mrs.  Gooderich  bit  her  lip  in  her 
anger  as  she  went  to  the  door  and  opened  it.  He  saw  her  beck- 
oning, and  slouched  across  holding  the  cigarette  so  that  it  was 
hidden  in  his  sleeve. 

"  Throw  it  away,"  she  said  quietly.  "  Here's  Mrs.  Gaynor 
and  Hiram.  They  want  to  see  you."  Hannibal,  flinging  away 
the  sodden  mess,  took  off  his  cap  and  followed  his  mother  into 
the  room. 

"  Why,  Hanny,  you're  as  big  as  Hiram ! "  cried  Mrs.  Gaynor, 
who  forgot  for  a  moment  the  intense  dislike  young  people  have 
of  all  references  to  their  growth.  Hannibal  stood  uneasily  shift- 
ing from  one  foot  to  the  other. 

"  Goin'  away  ? "  he  managed  to  remark  to  the  trim  young 
sailor,  who  nodded  cheerfully. 

"  We  were  just  saying,  Hanny,  that  you  might  do  well  at  sea, 
too,"  suggested  Mrs.  Gaynor. 

"  Me ! "  said  Hannibal,  eyeing  the  pilot-cloth  and  the  gold 
buttons. 

"Sure,  you.     Why  not?" 

Hannibal  was  silent.  This  was  a  new  idea,  and  neither  he 
nor  his  mother  were  adepts  in  dealing  with  new  ideas. 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  285 

"  Blow'd  if  I  know,"  he  replied  at  length.  "  'Ow  d'you  get 
a  job  to  start?" 

"  You  ought  to  be  apprenticed/'  said  Hiram. 
"  P'raps  his  uncle  would  help  him/'  suggested  Mrs.  Gaynor. 
There  was  another  silence  which  Mrs.  Gooderich  relieved. 
"  I'll  see  him/'  she  said,  but  she  spoke  reluctantly. 
"  Wouldn't  you  like  to  come  down  and  see  the  ship  with  us  ?  " 
asked  Mrs.  Gaynor. 

"If  you  like,"  replied  Hannibal,  looking  at  his  mother.  "  I'd 
better  'ave  a  wash." 

While  Hannibal  was  having  a  far  from  unnecessary  scrub  in 
the  scullery,  Mrs.  Gaynor  took  a  letter  from  her  bag  and  handed 
it  to  her  friend. 

"  From  Minnie,"  she  said  briefly,  and  sat  silently  while  Mrs. 
Gooderich  got  her  glasses  and  read  it. 

"  She's  comin'  'ome,"  she  said,  handing  it  back. 
N  To  London,"  replied  Mrs.  Gaynor.     "  Will  you  see  her?  " 
"If  she  comes  to  see  me  I  can't  turn  her  out.     But  do  you 
think  for  a  moment  she'd  come  'ere?     She  isn't  like  you,  Mrs. 
Gaynor.     She's  a  fine  lady,  lives  on  the  best,  I  dare  say.     She 
won't  come  down  'ere,  I'm  quite  sure." 

"  You  see  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Gaynor,  looking  over  the  letter.  "  She 
speaks  of  going  into  some  business  with  this  friend  of  hers.  It 
may  be  —  a  change." 

"  It  would  be  —  if  it  was  honest.  No,  she'll  come  to  me  when 
she's  sick  and  got  no  money,  not  before." 

"  Mrs.  Gooderich,  I  don't  believe  she  would,"  said  the  Amer- 
ican woman  earnestly.     "  I  think  she's  too  much  pride." 

"  You  mean  she'd  be  ashamed  of  seein'  her  mother  livin'  down 
here?  I  dare  say.  Gels  like  her  'ave  plenty  of  that  sort  o' 
pride." 

"  Well,  we'll  see,  and  I'll  let  you  know  when  she  writes  to  me. 
We  must  be  charitable." 

"  Oh,  I'm  very  charitable,"  assented  Mrs.  Gooderich  with 
unwonted  waspishness.  "  I  can  afford  to  be,  in  my  posi- 
tion." 

And  then  Hannibal  returned,  and  Mrs.  Gaynor  switched  the 
conversation  away  to  literature.  Mrs.  Gaynor,  while  admitting 
the  genius  of  Augusta  Wilson,  thought  Mrs.  Southworth  her  su- 
perior in  novel-writing,  and  it  was  that  lady's  Ishmael  which 
Mrs.  Gooderich  had  been  reading. 


236  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

"How  do  you  like  it?  Isn't  it  a  great  story?"  asked  Mrs. 
Gaynor. 

"  Beautiful/'  agreed  Mrs.  Gooderich.  "  He  does  marry  that 
Countess,  I  s'pose  ?  " 

"  Sure,  and  the  poor  thing  he'd  married  in  secret  dies. 
Haven't  you  got  to  it  yet  ?  " 

"  No.  I  read  so  slow/'  admitted  the  widow.  "  I  was  won- 
derin'  if  the  Countess  'ed  get  him,  and  then  I  couldn't  think  how 
he'd  manage  with  the  wife  he  had." 

"  She  dies/'  repeated  Mrs.  Gaynor  solemnly. 

"  That's  the  best  of  stories,"  remarked  Mrs.  Gooderich. 
"  You  can  always  let  them  die  if  they're  in  the  way.  It's  dif- 
ferent in  real  life." 

It  is. 

Hannibal  had  washed  his  hands  and  brushed  his  hair  and  boots, 
and  now  appeared  ready  for  the  expedition. 

"  Will  you  be  back  to  dinner  ?  "  asked  his  mother. 

"  I'll  see  to  that,"  said  Mrs.  Gaynor.  "  Hanny'll  have  to  es- 
cort me  back  to  the  City.  The  ship  don't  sail  till  to-night,  but 
I'll  have  to  be  getting  back  this  afternoon." 

"  I'll  be  out  a  bit,  so  if  he's  not  to  be  back  at  dinner-time  I 
needn't  hurry." 

"  Not  a  bit  o'  need.  You  go  right  along  and  do  the  errands. 
Hiram,  where's  that  —  oh,  here,  it's  in  my  bag."  And  Mrs.  Gay- 
nor placed  a  pot  of  her  home-made  j  am  on  the  table.  "  Vic- 
toria Plum.  I  hope  you'll  like  it.  Now  we  must  be  getting 
along." 

They  got  along,  and  Mrs.  Gooderich,  looking  through  the  cur- 
tains at  them  as  they  walked  towards  Stepney  Green,  noted  with 
a  certain  satisfaction  that  Hannibal  was  bigger  than  Hiram, 
and  would  no  doubt  look  as  well  if  he  had  the  same  uniform. 
This  brought  her  back  to  the  half- formed  decision  which  had 
led  her  to  hint  she  might  be  out  for  a  while.  Should  she  go 
to  see  her  brother-in-law,  Mr.  Brown,  and  ask  him  to  assist 
her  in  sending  Hannibal  to  sea?  There  was  much  against  it. 
She  did  not  like  either  the  idea  of  the  sea  or  the  idea  of  asking 
her  brother-in-law's  help.  But  was  it  not  her  duty?  That  was 
the  worst  of  Mrs.  Gooderich.  She  never  knew  whether  any 
course  of  action  was  her  duty  or  not.  As  a  rule,  when  she  did 
an  unpleasant  thing,  it  was  not  because  she  was  convinced  it  was 
her  duty,  but  because  she  was  afraid  it  might  be.     It  was  in  this 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  237 

mood  that  she  made  her  way,  after  an  early  dinner,  towards 
Kennington.  She  would  ask  her  brother-in-law's  help,  he  would 
very  likely  decline;  she  hoped  he  would;  she  would  have  done 
her  duty  and  would  then  proceed  to  do  something  which  was 
not  her  duty,  namely,  leave  Hannibal  to  get  some  casual  employ- 
ment. 

The  curious  thing  is  that  Mr.  Brown  and  his  family  were 
quite  unconscious  of  any  reason  why  Mrs.  Gooderich  should  not 
accept  assistance  at  their  hands.  Mr.  Brown  was  still  the  man 
with  the  humorous  blue  eye  who  had  stayed  the  funeral  cortege 
at  the  "  Northern  Star  "  and  regaled  himself  with  pork-pie  and 
stout.  He  was  more  successful,  that  was  all.  He  had  got  on. 
From  a  slippery  little  ledge  on  the  lower  slopes  of  the  moun- 
tain, after  a  period  of  peril  so  terrible  that  only  a  single  rope 
held  him  dangling  over  the  Bankruptcy  crevasse,  he  had  reached 
a  narrow  path  which  led  each  year  higher  and  higher.  That 
dangle  on  the  rope  had  greyed  his  hair,  but  it  had  not  destroyed 
his  sense  of  humour.  He  had  no  pride  at  all  in  the  sense  that 
Mrs.  Gooderich  understood  pride.  He  would  have  puzzled  in 
vain  to  know  why  his  sister-in-law  was  reluctant  to  be  under  any 
further  obligation  to  him.  He  had  gone  out  of  his  way  to  get 
her  recommended  for  the  work  of  cleaning  those  offices  in  the 
City,  he  had  got  her  that  quite  desirable  third  of  a  house  at  a 
ridiculously  trivial  rent.     What  could  he  do? 

But  as  a  matter  of  fact,  Mr.  Brown  was  too  busy  getting  on 
to  do  any  puzzling  at  all.  He  understood  his  business,  and  now 
that  he  had  ceased  to  dangle  and  had  good  solid  rocks  under 
his  feet,  he  took  a  great  pleasure  in  increasing  his  business  and  so 
gave  his  sister-in-law  very  little  thought.  It  may  be  that  this 
was  one  of  the  reasons  why  she  was  loath  to  ask  more  of  him. 
The  widow  and  the  fatherless  are  very  quick  to  discern  whether 
your  sympathy  be  perfunctory  or  really  from  the  heart.  They 
have  no  business  to  be  so  fastidious,  seeing  who  they  are,  but 
the  fact  remains  that  a  poor  foolish  widow  like  Mrs.  Gooderich, 
and  a  poor  ineffective  orphan  like  Hannibal,  will  have  more  pride 
than  a  prosperous  builder  like  Mr.  Brown,  who  really  could  af- 
ford to  be  stuck-up. 

It  could  hardly  be  expected  that  Mrs.  Brown,  who  was  so 
helpless  an  invalid  in  the  old  days  that  she  had  to  drink  port 
and  oatmeal  stout,  would  be  any  better  now  that  her  husband  had 
got  on.     She  was  not.     She  had  grown  steadily  worse  until  noth- 


238  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

ing  but  Bournemouth  and  Heidsieck  could  keep  the  breath  in 
her  body.  It  was  a  great  relief  to  Mrs.  Gooderich  to  know  that 
she  was  not  called  on  to  meet  Mrs.  Brown.  There  is  bound  to 
be  patronage  and  stubborn  resentment  in  such  encounters  be- 
tween sisters-in-law  until  humanity  is  scrapped  and  made  over 
afresh.  The  daughters  were  much  more  bearable,  Mrs.  Goode- 
rich thought,  they  being  quite  unaffectedly  pleased  with  their 
prosperity  and  glad  to  see  their  aunt. 

The  neat  bow-windowed  house,  with  its  little  office  built  out 
at  the  side,  was  in  one  of  the  many  turnings  off  the  Kennington 
Road.  As  Mrs.  Gooderich  came  up  to  the  gate,  Mr.  Brown  was 
standing  in  the  way  leading  to  his  yard  at  the  back,  talking  to 
his  foreman.  He  did  not  hasten  out  to  bid  her  welcome,  though 
he  was  glad  to  see  her.  He  just  waved  his  hand  and  waited  for 
her  to  come  up  to  him.  Another  piece  of  presumption  and  fool- 
ish pride;  the  widow  resented  it. 

"  Well,  Mary,  how's  things  ?     Come  over  to  see  us  ?  " 

"Yes,  George,  I  thought  I'd  just  run  over  and  have  a  word 
with  you.     How  are  you  all  ?  " 

"Oh,  fairish.  The  missis  is  just  as  usual.  She  goes  out  in 
a  bath  chair  a  bit,  y'know,  but  she  don't  seem  to  get  any  stronger. 
Beef-tea  an'  Bengers,  an'  a  glass  o'  champagne.  Nothin'  else 
yet,  doctor  ses." 

"  An'  the  children  ?  "  Mrs.  Gooderich  began  to  be  sorry  she 
had  come.     It  seemed  more  difficult  than  ever  to  ask  a  favour. 

"  A-h,"  replied  Mr.  Brown.  "  That  reminds  me  of  something. 
But  what's  the  trouble?  You  said  you'd  come  over  to  'ave  a 
word  with  me." 

All  this  time  he  stood  there  in  the  yard  entrance,  his  broad 
body  planted  firmly  on  his  great  stout  legs  encased  in  black 
leather  leggings,  his  thumbs  in  his  waistcoat  pockets,  and  his 
humorous  blue  eyes  glancing  over  his  little  sister-in-law.  She 
had  walked  nearly  a  mile  from  the  train  and  she  looked  round 
vaguely  as  though  in  search  of  a  seat. 

"  Well,  I  was  thinkin', —  but  if  you're  busy " 

"  Not  for  a  few  minutes.  Let's  go  indoors,  and  see  Amelia, 
she's  somewhere  roun'." 

He  led  the  way  through  the  little  office  and  into  the  drawing- 
room. 

The  house,  like  most  of  those  owned  by  people  who  have  some 
money  but  no  pride,  was  rather  over-furnished.     It  was  scarcely 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  239 

safe  to  stand  still  in  the  drawing-room,  so  congested  was  the 
space  with  goat-leg  chairs,  curio-cabinets,  Chesterfields  and 
small  tables.  Everything  was  covered  with  photographs  and 
vases,  the  walls  were  reinforced  with  oil-paintings  of  sheep  in 
fields,  enlargements  of  the  family-portraits  in  colours,  and  plush- 
framed  mementoes  of  Margate,  Bournemouth,  and  Ilfracombe. 
Mr.  Brown  pointed  to  a  straight-backed  chair  and  settled  him- 
self in  the  Chesterfield. 

"Amy!"  he  called,  adding  to  Mrs.  Gooderich,  "She'll  be 
down  in  a  minute." 

She  was  down  in  less  than  a  minute,  and  so  was  Ethel.  They 
had  seen  their  aunt  from  a  bedroom  window  and  had  lost  no 
time  in  changing  their  blouses  and  repinning  their  hair.  They 
entered  together,  two  buxom  well-looking  young  women,  and  of- 
fered their  cheeks  to  be  kissed. 

"  How  are  you,  Aunt  ?  "  said  Amelia. 

"  How  are  you,  Auntie?  "  said  Ethel.  Then  they  patted  their 
hair,  glanced  at  their  reflections  in  the  overmantel,  and  sat  down 
carefully. 

"  Now  to  business,"  said  their  father.  "  What  was  it  you 
wanted  to  see  me  about?"  It  occurred  to  him  as  he  sat  there 
that  it  was  delightful  to  do  any  one  a  good  turn,  especially  a  poor 
relative. 

"  It's  about  Hannibal.     I've  thought  of  sendin'  'im  to  sea." 
"  Sendin'  'im  to  sea !  "  repeated  Mr.  Brown  in  consternation, 
and  his  daughters  repeated  the  words  — 
"  Sendin'  'im  to  sea !  " 

Mr.  Brown  was  British  to  the  backbone,  and  he  had  the  Brit- 
isher's horror  of  the  sea,  but  his  astonishment  was  not  merely 
at  the  idea.  To  think  that  his  sister-in-law  had  hit  on  such  an 
extraordinary  scheme!  And  he  said  the  words  again,  quite  un- 
able to  frame  any  other  comment  for  the  moment. 
"  Sendin'  'im  to  sea !  " 

"  Yes,"  replied  Mrs.  Gooderich  in  a  low,  nervous  voice.  "  You 
see,  I  was  talkin'  to  Mrs.  Gaynor  the  other  day,  an'  her  boy's 

doin'  well  on  a  ship,  an' —  an' —  so " 

"  Did  she  give  you  the  idea  ?  " 

"  We  thought  it  might  be  a  good  thing,"  faltered  the  widow. 

"  And  leave  his  job?  " 

"  He  left  it  last  Saturday." 

"Sacked?" 


240  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

"  Some  little  thing.  .  .  .  He's  been  there  eighteen  months/' 
flared  the  mother,  defending  her  son,  her  heart  sinking. 

"  Fancy !  "  breathed  the  two  sisters,  watching  their  aunt  with 
the  unwinking  gaze  of  young  women  destitute  of  pride. 

"Any  reference?" 

"  The  foreman  was  that  short  I  had  no  chance  —  they  won't 
listen  to  a  woman,"  she  muttered. 

"  Well  —  and  so,  what  is  it  you  wanted  —  my  advice  ?  " 

"I  —  Mrs.  Gaynor  thought  you  might  be  able  to  —  to  get  him 
on  a  ship." 

Now  this  was,  in  all  justice  to  Mr.  Brown,  a  most  unreason- 
able request.  Mr.  Brown  knew  as  much  about  ships  as  he  knew 
about  the  Differential  Calculus.  He  was  as  far  from  the  ship- 
ping world  as  he  was  from  Mahomet's  Paradise,  and  he  felt  ag- 
grieved that  his  sister-in-law  should  show  such  ignorance  of  life 
as  to  expect  anything  else. 

"  Get  'im  on  a  ship  ?  Why,  Lord  bless  me,  Mary,  you  'aven't 
took  leave  of  your  five  senses,  'ave  you  ?  " 

"  I  didn't  think  it  'ed  be  much  use,"  she  said.  "  I  told  Mrs. 
Gaynor  it  wouldn't  be  any  use." 

Ethel  looked  at  Amelia  and  Amelia  framed  the  word  "  Fib." 
And  Ethel  nodded. 

"  I  should  think  not.  Why  —  why  —  if  Mrs.  Gaynor's  so  fond 
o'  the  sea,  why  don't  she  do  somethin'  for  'im  ?  " 

"  They've  only  got  one  ship,  she  said,  and  they  don't  take  many 
boys.     An'  there's  a  premium  too." 

"That's  it,  is  it?  Me  to  pay  the  premium?  For  a  boy  as 
gets  the  sack  an'  no  reference.     Mary,  Fm  surprised." 

He  was.  He  hadn't  a  particle  of  pride,  but  he  was  surprised 
that  a  widow  woman  who  was  glad  to  take  a  sovereign  a  week 
for  cleaning  offices,  should  have  dreamed  of  an  apprenticeship 
for  her  boy.  Young  John  was  in  the  engineering  and  costing  a 
pretty  penny  in  books  and  keep,  Ethel  had  served  an  intermit- 
tent novitiate  at  the  gentle  art  of  winding  wire  round  flower 
stems  and  making  up  buttonholes  and  wreaths.  But  Amelia  had 
faced  life  unflinchingly  behind  a  tobacconist's  counter,  and  Tom, 
his  beloved  Tom-tom,  the  right-hand  man  of  his  business,  he 
had  never  had  no  apprenticeship.  True,  Mr.  Brown  had  been 
dangling  by  a  rope  at  that  time,  with  but  few  thoughts  to  bestow 
on  any  of  them,  and  Tom  had  proved  one  of  those  adaptable 
mortals  who  can  see  money  in  anything  and  can  extract  it  without 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  241 

fuss.  But  what  has  all  this  to  do  with  the  case  of  the  widow  who 
sits  on  that  straight-backed  chair?  By  what  law,  human  or  di- 
vine, can  she  lay  claim  to  such  a  start  for  her  boy? 

As  Mr.  Brown  himself  said  sot  to  voce  when  a  liner  was 
wrecked  and  all  the  survivors  were  saloon  passengers :  "  What's 
the  use  of  goin'  first-class,  if  the  steerage  stand  as  good  a  chance 
as  you  do  ?  " 

He  was  not  proud,  but  he  could  not  see  it. 
Mrs.  Goodcrich  rose. 

"  It  don't  signify  —  I  thought  very  likely  you  wouldn't  fall  in 
with  the  idea." 

"  Well,  hold  on  a  bit  —  sit  down  —  we've  got  something  to 
say  first,"  said  Mr.  Brown.  "  It's  really  Amelia's  business  and 
she  can  tell  you."  Mr.  Brown  peered  through  the  thick  screen 
of  plants,  gold  fish,  and  curtains  which  obscured  the  window. 
"  I  see  Tom's  out  there  with  a  man  I  want  to  speak  to." 

He  went  out,  and  the  two  girls  sat  looking  at  their  aunt  for  a 
few  moments.     And  then  Amelia  began  to  explain. 

"  The  fact  is,"  she  remarked,  with  numerous  little  feminine 
movements,  "  I've  had  a  little  legacy  left  me.  You  didn't  know 
our  Uncle  Bartholomew,  did  you,  Auntie?  He  wasn't  really 
uncle,  only  a  cousin  o'  dad's.  Well,  anyway,  he  took  a  fancy  to 
me  when  I  was  little,  and  what  does  he  do  but  leave  me  some- 
thing in  his  will." 

"  I've  'eard  of  'im,  Amy.  He  'ad  'ouses,  I  think." 
"  No,  property,"  corrected  Amelia  gravely.  "  But  he  didn't 
leave  that  to  me."  She  tittered  and  looked  at  her  aunt  as  if 
to  say,  "  I  shouldn't  be  wasting  my  time  talking  to  you  if  I'd 
been  left  real  property."  "  No,"  she  went  on,  "  this  little  legacy 
is  the  unexpired  lease  of  a  shop  in  Billiter  Lane.  Goodness 
knows  how  he  got  'old  of  such  a  thing,  but  I  expect  it  was  a 
bad  debt  —  it  generally  is.  It's  a  hosier's  business  now;  the 
old  gentleman  used  to  pay  a  man  to  run  it.  Now  he's  gone  and 
left  it  to  me.  I'm  not  goin'  to  pay  a  man  thirty  shillin'  a  week 
to  make  a  pound  profit.  You  see  ?  So  we  had  a  sale  and  cleared 
it  out." 

"  What  are  you  goin'  to  do?     Let  it?  " 

"  The  lease  has  only  four  years  to  run  and  any  tenant  'ed 
want  alterations  no  end.  So  I'm  goin'  to  get  dad  to  fix  it  up  as 
a  tobacconist's,  which  is  a  business  I  know  something  about,  and 
look    after    it   myself.     Dad's    great   on   shop-fittin'.     He   says 


242  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

there's  a  fortune  in  it.  But  I  told  him  he  wouldn't  make  any  for- 
tunes out  of  me  'cause  he  was  to  do  it  cost  price." 

"  I  see,"  said  Mrs.  Gooderich  because  she  didn't  see. 

"  So  that  brings  me,"  continued  Amelia,  "  to  the  reason  I'm 
tellin'  you  all  this.     You  know  where  Billiter  Lane  is  ?  " 

Mrs.  Gooderich  shook  her  head  vaguely,  and  both  sisters  sat 
with  pursed  lips.  They  were  very  patient  and  good-tempered 
about  it,  but  Aunt  Mary  was  slow. 

"  Well,  it's  off  a  turning  this  end  o'  Fenchurch  Street." 

"  Near  Aldgate  ?  "  said  her  aunt,  now  thoroughly  cowed.  The 
two  girls  nodded. 

"  Well  then,  it's  not  so  far  from  your  place,  and  I  was  thinkin' 
that  as  I  couldn't  be  tied  hand  and  foot  I'd  have  to  have  an 
assistant.  An'  so,  to  keep  it  in  the  family,  it  struck  me  Cousin 
Hanny  'ed  find  it  a  good  opening.  Not  much  to  start,  of  course, 
but  in  time  he'd  get  on,  and  it's  much  more  gentlemanly  work  than 
a  furniture  warehouse.     Don't  you  think  so  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  Amy,  yes,  my  dear.  It's  very  good  of  you.  You'd 
teach  him  the  business,  you  mean?  " 

"  I'd  teach  him  the  business,"  assented  Amelia,  seizing  a  fresh 
point  of  view  with  the  quickness  of  a  lightning  flash.  "  Free  of 
charge,  and  he  can  open  the  place  in  the  morning  and  close  it  up 
at  night." 

"  Oh,  you  won't  be  livin'  there?  " 

Amelia  closed  her  eyes  in  mute  despair,  and  then  looked  ap- 
pealingly  towards  her  sister,  signalling  to  her,  "  Do  you  think  it's 
any  wonder  she's  poor?  " 

"  Aunt  Mary,"  she  said,  "  do  you  know  the  rents  in  Billiter 
Lane?" 

Aunt  Mary  shook  her  head  sadly. 

"  Well,  for  a  room  no  bigger'n  this  one  you're  sittin'  in,  they 
get  five  pounds  a  week !  " 

M  Good  gracious !  " 

"  I  should  think  so !  My  place  is  only  half  as  big  as  this,  and 
I  could  get  three  pounds  a  week  for  it  if  the  lease  had  any  time 
to  run;  but  as  soon  as  people  know  it's  up  in  four  vears  they're 
off." 

"  I  see,"  remarked  Mrs.  Gooderich.  "  Hanny  could  walk,  I 
should  think." 

"If  he's  got  legs,"  agreed  Amelia  amiably.  "  I  suppose  he 
has  the  usual  number." 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  243 

"  Here's  father  comin'  in  again,"  remarked  Ethel. 

She  was  two  years  younger  than  Amelia  and  always  under- 
took the  irrelevant  remarks.  "  Isn't  it  a  lovely  day?  "  she  en- 
quired of  her  aunt.  It  was  a  lovely  day  to  the  two  girls,  no 
doubt,  but  I  don't  think  that,  so  far,  it  had  impressed  Mrs.  Goode- 
rich  as  being  very  lovely.  So  she  only  smiled  weakly  and  looked 
up  at  her  brother-in-law. 

"  Well,  how  is  it  now  ?  "  he  asked,  taking  the  Chesterfield  again. 
"  What  do  you  think  of  Amy's  idea  ?  " 

"  I  think  it'll  do  very  nicely,"  replied  Mrs.  Gooderich.  "  It's 
very  good  of  Amy  to  give  'im  a  chance." 

"  To  learn  the  business,"  added  Amelia,  with  a  look  at  her 
father  which  was  at  once  accepted,  answered,  and  filed  for  refer- 
ence. 

"  Bit  better'n  goin'  to  sea,  I  reckon,"  he  suggested,  with  a 
smile.  "  I  suppose,"  he  added,  "  I  suppose  he'll  take  it  on, 
won't  'e?" 

"  Oh,  yes.     I'll  speak  to  him  about  it  as  soon  as  I  get  'ome." 

"  That's  the  style,"  he  replied,  looking  meditatively  at  the 
small  bent  figure  and  thinking  about  an  investment  he  had  had 
on  his  mind  for  some  time.  A  successful  man,  or  even  a  man 
achieving  success,  has  many  things  to  think  of.  "  That's  the 
style.     It'll  make  a  man  of  him.     Let's  see,  'ow  old  is  'e  now  ?  " 

"  Eighteen  nex'  birthday,"  said  the  mother.  The  two  girls 
looked  at  each  other  for  a  moment.  They  had  not  realised  that 
even  poor  people  grow  up.  It  is  very  presumptuous  of  them,  but 
they  will  do  it.  Not  even  "  stunted,"  according  to  slumming 
rules,  for  Mrs.  Gooderich  added,  "  An'  big  for  'is  age." 

"  It  must  be  two  years  since  he  was  'ere,"  mused  Mr.  Brown. 
"  'E  was  only  a  lad  then." 

"  'E's  been  runnin'  up,"  she  explained  apologetically. 

"  You  ought  to  bring  'im  over  sometimes,"  he  told  her,  and  she 
made  no  reply  to  this  except  to  rise  once  more. 

"  That's  not  the  time  ?  "  she  asked,  looking  at  the  gilded  clock 
which  had  stopped  at  half-past  five  three  weeks  before.  Mr. 
Brown  looked  at  his  gold  watch. 

"  Three,"  he  said,  clicking  the  lid  and  polishing  it  with  his 
thumb.     "  Just  three." 

"  I  must  be  goin',"  said  Mrs.  Gooderich,  holding  out  her  hand. 
He  took  it  heartily. 

"  Well,  bye-bye.     Let  Amy  know  as  soon  as  you  can," 


244  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

"  Yes.     Good-bye,  Amy.     Good-bye,  Ethel." 

As  their  aunt  was  passing  through  the  hall,  Ethel  looked  at 
Amelia  and  Amelia  shook  her  head. 

"  Take  care  o'  yourself,"  was  Mr.  Brown's  remark  as  he  closed 
the  door. 

"  Eighteen ! "  exclaimed  Ethel,  when  the  little  servant  had 
brought  the  girls  their  tea  up  to  their  snuggery.  Amelia  stirred 
hers  meditatively. 

"  He  may  be  a  handful,"  she  remarked.  "  It's  plain  he's  too 
much  for  her  to  manage." 

"  She  never  said  a  word  about  Minnie." 

"  It's  not  likely,  is  it?" 

Ethel's  eyes  were  round  with  interest  as  she  stared  at  her 
sister.  She  was  growing  up  and  approaching  the  time  when 
Amy  would  confide  fully.  She  knew  in  a  vague  way  that  Aunt 
Mary  had  a  past,  and  she  knew  in  a  way  somewhat  less  vague 
that  Cousin  Minnie  had,  so  to  speak,  a  present  which  would  ulti- 
mately develop  into  a  lurid  subject  for  non-primitive  young  la- 
dies to  discuss.  But  as  she  stared  at  her  sister,  Amelia  took 
up  her  novelette  and  resumed  her  perusal  of  the  adventures  of 
a  poor  heroine  who  had  been  wronged.  So  Ethel  resigned  her- 
self patiently  to  a  little  more  waiting,  and  continued  her  initia- 
tion into  womanhood  by  taking  up  her  own  novelette,  which 
treated  of  the  adventures  of  a  fascinating  widow  who  visited 
country  houses,  broke  guardsmen's  hearts  and  stole  diamonds. 


Ill 

AS  Mrs.  Gooderich  hurried  home  she  had  a  great  fear 
gripping  her  heart,  a  fear  that  transcended  all  her 
feelings  of  sadness  and  jealousy  which  had  been 
aroused  by  the  visit  to  her  successful  brother-in-law. 
It  was  the  fear  that  by  foolishly  letting  Hannibal  go  to  see 
Hiram's  ship,  she  had  spoiled  the  chance  of  getting  him  to  fall 
in  with  the  new  scheme.  For  Mrs.  Gooderich,  in  spite  of  her 
reluctance  to  accept  favours  from  Kennington,  was  heart  and 
soul  in  sympathy  with  the  commercial  career  as  compared  with 
the  nautical  life  approved  by  Mrs.  Gay  nor.  What  if  Mrs.  Gay- 
nor  had  induced  Hannibal  to  ship  himself  away  immediately? 
What  if  he  were  already  tossing  about  on  the  ocean?  Mrs. 
Gooderich's  ideas  of  maritime  procedure  were  vague.  And  it 
must  be  remembered  that  the  sea  was  connected  inseparably  in 
her  mind  with  running  away.  The  Mercantile  Marine,  she  imag- 
ined, was  entirely  manned  by  disreputable  young  fellows  who 
had  done  something  and  run  away  to  sea.  The  Navy,  of  course, 
was  different.  If  you  were  in  the  Navy,  you  wore  low-necked 
jumpers,  very  baggy  trousers,  and  appeared  in  your  native  vil- 
lage at  long  intervals  on  leave  with  a  bundle  done  up  in  a  blue 
handkerchief. 

But  Amelia's  plan,  apart  from  its  Kennington  origin,  prom- 
ised to  be  an  admirable  start  in  life.  Mrs.  Gooderich  had  never 
heard  of  Napoleon's  famous  taunt.  She  would  have  seen  noth- 
ing libellous  in  it.  She  would  have  only  wished  we  were  a  na- 
tion of  shopkeepers  and  she  herself  one  of  them.  But  while 
in  a  general  way  you  needed  capital,  in  this  case  that  terrible 
difficulty  was  overcome.  It  was  a  fine  idea,  but  all  the  way  home 
she  had  recurring  fits  of  panic  as  she  thought  of  Hannibal  pre- 
paring to  run  away  to  sea. 

But  Hannibal  was  there  when  she  returned,  still  in  his  clean 
collar  and  his  hair  not  yet  tousled.  An  unusually  quiet  and  self- 
contained  Hannibal,  who  made  no  remarks  of  any  importance 
while  his  mother  hastily  prepared  their  tea. 

"  Did  you  see  the  ship  ?  "  she  enquired ;  and  he  nodded. 

245 


240  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

"  Is  it  a  big  one  ?  "     And  he  nodded  again. 

"  I've  seen  your  uncle/'  she  told  him  nervously.  "  He  says  he 
can  get  you  a  job." 

"  On  a  ship  ?  "  he  asked,  turning  round  from  the  window. 

"  No.  He  says  'e  don't  know  anythin'  about  'em.  It's  a  to- 
bacconist's, in  the  City." 

"  Oh,"  said  Hannibal,  and  resumed  his  contemplation  of  a 
game  of  tip-cat  in  Assembly  Passage. 

"  Your  Cousin  Amy's  'ad  it  left  'er,  and  she  wants  a  lad  to 
look  after  it,  open  it  and  lock  up  at  night,  you  see,"  she  went  on 
hurriedly.  "  It's  a  good  openin'  to  learn  the  business,  as  she's 
been  in  that  sort  o'  thing,  so  I  thought  —  you'd  better  take  it. 
What's  the  matter?     Why  don't  you  answer?  " 

He  turned  on  her  again. 

"Why  do  other  people  'ave  all  the  fat?"  he  asked  hoarsely. 
"  Why  didn't  father  git  on  same  as  Uncle  George  ?  Nobody 
leaves  us  tobacconist's  shops,  as  could  do  with  'em." 

"  'Ere's  a  chance  to  get  on,"  she  replied  quietly. 

"  So  they  say ;  'ow  much  a  week  ?  " 

"  I  didn't  ask.  It  wouldn't  be  much  at  first,  till  you'd  learned 
the  business."  He  made  no  answer  and  she  went  on  again. 
"  It'll  be  more'n  you  get  at  sea."     He  laughed  grimly. 

"  It  couldn't  be  less,  old  lady,"  he  assured  her,  thinking  of 
Hiram's  statement  that  he  was  in  receipt  of  five  shillings  a  week 
until  he  was  out  of  his  time. 

"  There  you  are,"  she  argued.  "  This  idea  of  Amy's  is  the 
chance  of  a  lifetime,  and  you'd  better  take  it.  She  may  not  ask 
twice." 

"  I  ain't  ast  her  once  yet,"  he  replied  in  a  low  voice. 

"  What's  the  matter  with  you,  Hanny  ?  " 

"  I'd'no.  Some'ow  I  get  fed  up  with  it,  seeing  everybody  else 
'avin'  a  good  time.     Look  at  Hiram  now " 

"  What  does  'e  get  a  week?  "  she  asked. 

"Get?  He  gets  nothin'!  Mrs.  Gay  nor  'ad  to  plank  down 
twenty  quid  to  put  'im  there,  and  they  give  'im  five  bob  a  week 
out  of  it.  That's  what  I  mean;  'e  don't  'ave  to  earn  anythin'. 
And  'ere's  Amy  'avin'  shops  left  'er.  I  git  fed  up  with  it,  that's 
all." 

He  sat  sideways  on  his  chair,  staring  moodily  through  the 
grey  curtains  into  the  street,  and  struggling  with  a  vague,  form- 
less desire,  a  desire  that  became  in  time  a  reincarnation  of  those 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  247 

purposeless  imaginings  of  his  childhood.  Like  many  inarticu- 
late souls,  he  was  compelled  to  falsify  his  emotions  by  his  ex- 
pression of  them.  He  did  not  really  envy  others  for  their  good 
fortune.  What  he  felt  was  that  at  bottom  he  was  unfitted  for  the 
life  in  harness  which  seemed  his  only  destiny.  Whichever  way 
he  looked  he  saw  the  collar  of  servitude  and  toil  waiting  for  his 
neck.  And  as  he  stood  on  the  deck  of  the  great,  beautiful  ship, 
the  white  yards  and  endless  complexity  of  her  cordage  soaring 
above  him,  as  he  had  stood  there  looking  across  at  the  great 
steamers  and  caught,  as  it  were,  a  hint  of  the  vast  heaving  world 
through  which  they  had  ploughed,  a  passionate  hatred  of  his  dul- 
ness  and  impotence  took  possession  of  him.  If  he  could  only  get 
away  out  of  it. 

Hiram,  showing  him  the  berth  he  shared  with  another  brawny, 
brown-faced  youth,  had  supplied  in  some  sort  an  answer  to  Han- 
nibal's hazy  questionings.  Hiram  said  that  he  might  get  a  job 
on  a  steamer  as  an  ordinary,  but  the  pay  was  poor  and  the 
work  was  filthy.  Or  he  might  go — here  Hirnm  looked  at  his 
chum  who  was  twenty  and  smoked  a  pipe  —  he  might  go  as  a 
steward. 

"  Me ! "  scorned  Hannibal.  "  I  don't  know  nothin'  o'  stew- 
ard's work." 

"  Mess  room,"  said  the  pipe-smoker.  "  You  soon  get  into  it. 
It  isn't  sailoring,  I  know,  but  it  runs  to  a  pretty  good  job  later 
on.  Six  or  seven  pound  a  month  besides  what  the  Old  Man 
gives  you." 

Hannibal  looked  at  the  speaker  respectfully  as  he  stood  there 
against  the  bunk,  his  muscular  arms  crossed,  his  brown  face 
clouded  with  the  smoke  of  his  briar. 

"  I'll  think  it  over,"  he  said.  "  How  d'you  get  a  job;  just  go 
on  board  an'  ask  ?  "  And  they  nodded  courteously.  And  then 
Mrs.  Gaynor,  who  had  been  talking  to  the  captain's  wife,  came 
along  and  said  they  must  be  off. 

Hannibal  often  thought  of  that  excursion  down  to  another 
world,  a  world  of  which  Londoners  least  of  all  seem  to  have  any 
consciousness.  And  he  remembered  the  journey  up  into  the  City 
with  Mrs.  Gaynor.  He  was  not  very  clear  as  to  her  meaning 
sometimes,  but  he  felt  she  was  to  be  trusted.  Mrs.  Gaynor  never 
failed  to  give  that  feeling,  even  though  you  were  antagonistic 
to  her.  You  could  not  for  the  life  of  you  suspect  her  of  advis- 
ing some  course  for  her  own  aggrandisement.     And  so,  when  she 


248  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

said  to  Hannibal  in  the  'bus,  "  Now,  Hanny,  you're  the  only  one 
left  over  to  your  mother  now,  so  you  must  be  a  man  and  take 
hold,"  he  interpreted,  "  taking  hold  "  as  doing  something  for 
his  living  at  once. 

"  D'you  reckon  I  could  get  on  a  ship  —  like  Hiram?  "  he  asked 
hesitatingly. 

"  Why,  I  spoke  to  Captain  Baines  about  it,  and  he  said  he 
didn't  know  what  he  could  do  until  the  other  apprentice  is  fin- 
ished, and  that'll  be  next  voyage.  But  do  you  think  you'd  like 
it?     You  see,  your  mother '11  be  lonely  all  by  herself." 

"  Same's  you,"  he  suggested. 

"  I'm  never  lonely,"  replied  Mrs.  Gaynor,  her  grey-green  eyes 
illumined  by  a  curious  light.  "  Your  mother  isn't  like  me,  she 
needs  company.     She's  not  like  me,  and  you." 

"  Me  ?  Why  me  ?  I  ain't  particularly  fond  o'  bein'  by  me- 
self." 

As  he  uttered  the  words  he  realised  that  they  distorted  the 
truth,  that  at  bottom  he  despised  his  friends  and  their  chivying, 
and  would  have  withdrawn  to  quieter  haunts  if  the  common  crav- 
ings of  human  life  had  been  more  rationally  and  adequately 
sated. 

Mrs.  Gaynor  had  not  answered  him  at  first.  She  had  sat  there 
in  the  'bus  leaning  forward  and  grasping  her  umbrella  and  bag 
firmly,  thinking  that  though  Hannibal  was  about  the  same  age  as 
Minnie  when  they  had  gone  for  a  little  jaunt  together,  yet  she 
could  not  make  Hannibal  understand  like  Minnie. 

"  You  used  to  be,"  she  had  said  at  length. 

"  Ah,"  he  replied,  looking  out  at  the  crowded  street.  "  I  used 
to  be  a  lot  o'  things  I  ain't  now." 

"  You're  running  up,"  said  Mrs.  Gaynor,  looking  at  him 
earnestly,  "  and  you'll  soon  be  a  man.  And  yet  you  have  no 
friends." 

"  I  know  a  lot  of  chaps,"  he  persisted,  in  spite  of  himself. 

"  I  said  friends,  as  Hiram  and  Harry  Grantley  are  on  the 
Cygnet.  I  feel  as  safe  as  safe  about  Hiram  since  he's  been  to 
sea,  because  he  wrote  and  told  me  about  his  chum.  Now,  Hanny, 
you  ought  not  to  grow  up  without  a  real  chum." 

"  I'll  do  whatever  you  tell  me,"  he  declared.  "  Shall  I  go  and 
try  for  a  j  ob  on  a  steamer,  or  stick  'ere  in  London  ?  " 

"  You  must  do  what  your  mother  thinks  best.  I  don't  be- 
lieve she'd  stand  in  your  light,  but  all  the  same,  Hanny,  don't 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  249 

forget  she's  had  a  great  deal  to  put  up  with,  and  try  to  make  it 
easier  for  her." 

Hannibal  was  wondering  why,  if  this  green-eyed  lady  was  as 
rich  as  his  mother  surmised,  she  didn't  dress  better  and  offer  to 
pay  his  premium  to  indenture  him  to  the  sea  ?  But  that  was  not 
Mrs.  Gaynor's  way  at  all.  She  did  a  great  and  rare  service  to 
the  world  by  living  in  it;  her  influence  made  a  great  deal  of  differ- 
ence to  those  who  experienced  it,  and  she  felt  that  this  subtle 
psychic  beneficence  would  have  been  vitiated  by  any  traffic  in 
money.  Hannibal,  of  course,  did  not  know  this ;  he  merely  won- 
dered, and  came  to  the  conclusion  that  Mrs.  Gaynor  was  not  so 
very  rich  after  all.  Which  was  as  near  the  truth  as  any  one  ever 
attained. 

Perhaps  it  was  the  result  of  that  influence  that  he  returned 
home  from  his  visit  to  the  good  ship  Cgynet  in  a  somewhat  chas- 
tened mood,  which  was  only  marred  by  the  chafing  effects  of  the 
Brown  family's  success.  When  he  made  his  statement  to  his 
mother  that  he  was  "  fed  up,"  she  put  down  the  bread-knife  and 
came  over  to  him. 

'*  Fed  up?  And  don't  you  think  I'm  fed  up  with  it  too,  long 
ago?  Do  you  think  I  want  to  go  and  take  their  leavin'?  But 
we  can't  starve.  We've  got  to  take  what's  offered.  Beautiful 
countesses  don't  come  round  with  bags  of  money  nowadays,"  she 
continued  bitterly,  thinking  of  the  novel  she  had  been  reading. 
"  And  even  if  you've  got  relations  as  are  well  off,  it's  as  bitter 
as  death  to  take  it  from  'em.  What  right  'ave  we  to  pick  and 
choose  ?  " 

"  There  y'are,"  he  replied  in  a  low  tone.  "  That's  just  where 
I  bring  up  every  time,  and  I'm  gettin'  sick  of  it." 

Mrs.  Gooderich  was  standing  "  over  him,"  staring  through  her 
curtains.     She  roused  with  a  start. 

"But  you'll  take  it,  Hanny?"  She  almost  whined.  "Don't 
let  them  say  we  threw  it  back  at  'em." 

"  Yes,  I'll  do  as  you  like,  old  lady,"  he  assured  her,  getting  up 
and  going  to  the  table.  As  he  rose  and  towered  over  her,  rump- 
ling his  hair  with  one  hand  while  the  other  stretched  out  hori- 
zontally, Mrs.  Gooderich  was  struck  by  a  new  thought.  She  was 
nearly  strangled  by  the  suddenness  and  the  lunacy  of  it,  but  she 
could  not  dismiss  it. 

"  Hanny,"  she  said,  "  when  did  you  last  see  your  Cousin 
Amy?" 


250  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

Hannibal  yawned  again,  and  reaching  out  took  a  piece  of  bread 
and  margarine  by  the  edge  and  dropped  it  flat  on  his  plate.  He 
began  his  tea. 

"  I  d'no/'  he  said,  his  mouth  full.  "  Which  is  the  oldest, 
Amy  or  Ethel  ?  " 

"  Amy,"  said  his  mother,  looking  hard  at  him  and  still  turn- 
ing over  her  new  lunatic  idea  in  her  brain. 

M  Ain't  been  there  since  I  was  at  the  Repositories,"  he  said. 
"Why?" 

"  Nothing,"  said  his  mother,  and  changed  the  subject. 


IV 

THE  meeting  was  under  the  eye  of  Mr.  Brown  and  there- 
fore formal;  Hannibal  was  somewhat  tongue-tied  and 
conscious  of  his  clean  collar.  But  in  spite  of  these  dis- 
abilities he  made  a  favourable  impression  upon  Amelia, 
and  Ethel,  had  she  been  yet  further  advanced  in  knowledge  of 
life,  would  have  detected  an  unwonted  softness  in  her  sister's 
face. 

"  Well,  young  man,"  said  the  humorous  uncle,  "  you've  been 
takin'  the  law  into  your  own  'ands  lately.  Chuckin'  your  job, 
an'  threatenin'  to  run  away  to  sea !     Tut  tut !  " 

Young  John,  who  was  in  the  engineering  and  who  therefore 
was  presentable  to  strangers  at  week-ends  only,  looked  up  at 
this,  and  the  story  had  to  be  retold  for  his  benefit.  He  did  not 
seem  so  shocked  as  his  father  had  been,  seemed  in  fact  more  in- 
terested in  Hannibal  than  before. 

Thomas,  his  father's  Tom-tom  and  right-hand  man,  followed 
his  sisters,  trying  to  make  the  young  man  feel  as  though  he 
were  one  of  the  family.  They  plied  him  with  all  the  provender 
of  a  high  tea,  for  the  Browns,  having  no  pride,  were  still  far 
from  that  stage  of  success  which  is  accompanied  by  late  dinner. 
The  servant  did  not  wait  as  yet,  merely  bringing  in  the  food  and 
returning  later  to  clear  away.  And  Amelia,  by  whose  side  he 
sat,  was  gracious  and  encouraging. 

"  Anybody  'd  think  I  was  a  terror!"  he  laughed,  when  the 
panic  occasioned  by  so  many  dishes  had  passed  from  him.  He 
did  not  look  like  a  terror  as  he  sat  there,  his  hair  brushed  up  from 
his  forehead  with  a  wet  brush,  the  blinding  light  of  three  in- 
candescent mantles  descending  upon  him.  The  Browns  were 
still  under  the  impression  that  their  success  should  be  demon- 
strated to  themselves  by  excess  of  light.  They  had  worked  up 
from  one  mantle  to  three  on  the  gasolier,  with  two  (never  used) 
on  either  side  of  the  fire-place.  This  greenish  radiance  dis- 
turbed strangers  and  made  the  girls  look  plain,  but  they  had  not 
yet  attained  to  subtlety  in  such  things. 

Mr.  Brown  ate  steadily  with  the  appetite  of  a  healthy  and 

251 


252  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

unembarrassed  man,  leaving  his  daughters  to  make  the  conver- 
sation. This  they  proceeded  to  do  after  their  own  fashion. 
The  business  of  making  Hannibal  one  of  the  family  went  on 
apace. 

"  Have  a  little  more  tongue,  Hanny  ?  "  said  Amelia,  who  was 
hostess. 

"  Tom,  pass  the  mustard,"  said  Ethel,  pushing  the  salt  to- 
wards her  cousin,  who  was  holding  his  plate  for  more  tongue. 

"Have  you  been  to  any  theatres?"  asked  Ethel,  who  was 
fond  of  them. 

"  Not  much.     I've  been  to  the  Paragon  now  and  then." 

u  We  saw  the  Sign  of  the  Cross  the  other  night." 

"What's  it  like?     I've  'eard  of  it." 

"  It's  splendid !     So  real,  you  know." 

"  Did  you  see  it  ?  "  Hannibal  asked  Amelia,  and  she  nodded 
seriously. 

"  It's  a  lovely  piece.  You  ought  to  go  and  see  it.  It's  always 
on  somewhere." 

"What's  it  about?" 

"  Oh,  the  Christians  in  Rome,  you  know.     It's  very  religious." 

"  Is  that  so  ?     Fancy !     At  a  theatre  too !  " 

"  Clergymen  go  to  see  it,"  observed  Ethel,  looking  into  Hanni- 
bal's cup.     "More  tea?" 

"  Thanks.  I  seen  a  piece  called  the  Fightin*  Parson  once,  but 
I  didn't  see  any  clergymen  there,"  remarked  Hannibal. 

"  That's  only  a  sketch !  "  said  Amelia,  with  a  contempt  diffi- 
cult to  imagine  now.     "  The  Sign  of  the  Cross  is  quite  different." 

"  I  must  see  it,"  said  the  young  man,  wondering  where  he 
would  find  the  money  to  go  to  theatres. 

"  Aunt  Mary  doesn't  like  theatres,  does  she  ?  "  enquired  Ethel, 
and  Hannibal  looked  grave. 

"  No,"  he  said,  "  she  don't."  He  tried  to  imagine  his  mother 
at  a  theatre  and  failed. 

When  tea  was  over  young  John  offered  Hannibal  a  cigarette. 
Somewhat  embarrassed  he  took  it,  knocking  the  end  on  his 
thumbnail  in  a  way  that  damned  him  as  one  experienced  in  ciga- 
rettes. His  cousin  Amelia  watched  him  lean  over  towards  John's 
match,  and  hoped  it  wasn't  a  vice  with  him.  She  had  not  been 
prepared  for  a  cousin  quite  so  grown  up  as  he  had  proved  to 
be;  in  fact  her  intended  attitude  of  patronage  would  have  been 
impossible  if  Hannibal  had  been  more  sophisticated.     She  was 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  253 

half  angry  with  herself  for  liking  him,  yet  like  him  she  did.  He 
had  the  full  swimming  eye  that  draws  women,  and  though  the 
cigarette  habit  might  breed  trouble  in  a  tobacconist's,  it  made 
him  seem  more  manly  and  —  subtle  point  —  independent  of  his 
mother. 

I  have  reiterated,  perhaps  to  weariness,  the  lack  of  pride  in 
the  Brown  family,  and  it  is  a  fresh  demonstration  of  it  that,  so 
far,  they  had  not  conceived  any  notions  of  consolidating  their 
position  by  means  of  advantageous  marriages.  The  lady  who 
might  have  engineered  any  such  campaign  was  on  her  back  in 
a  Bournemouth  hydro,  entirely  preoccupied  with  her  own  in- 
terior and  the  stimulants  which  alone  retarded  dissolution. 
Amelia  and  Ethel  had  no  "  fancy  "  idea  which  prevented  them 
from  enjoying  the  society  of  "boys"  of  whose  financial  status 
they  were  quite  ignorant  beyond  their  ability  to  pay  for  choc- 
olates and  seats  in  the  upper  circle.  Ethel  was  still  in  the 
engagement  period,  her  clandestine  attachments  varying  in  dura- 
tion from  two  days  to  a  fortnight,  with  intervals  of  a  week.  It 
may  lower  her  in  the  reader's  estimation,  but  it  will  certainly 
convince  him  that  she  was  not  proud,  when  it  is  stated  that  for 
the  whole  of  the  preceding  September  she  had  been  engaged 
simultaneously  to  a  junior  clerk  at  Bournemouth  (cetat  nineteen) 
and  a  pattern-maker,  a  chum  of  John's,  at  Camberwell.  The 
temperament  which  survives,  nay  flourishes,  on  such  quick-change 
passion  is  the  temperament  most  often  found  in  families  who 
are  getting  on,  who  are  healthy  in  body,  active  in  mind,  and  who 
find  in  the  Sign  of  the  Cross  a  sublime  moral  lesson  for  their 
souls.  Nothing  can  stop  these  people  in  their  onward  career; 
they  fill  up  every  ditch  as  they  go.  They  take  no  chances,  are 
prepared  for  every  emergency.  Does  one  part  of  the  business 
fail?  They  recoup  one  another.  Is  their  house  burnt?  They 
are  insured.  Does  a  great  disaster  overwhelm  their  investments? 
Sons  and  daughters  have  each  a  calling  and  are  at  once  earning 
wages.  This  temperament  needs  no  pride  to  bolster  it,  it  shines 
upon  them  and  upon  all  their  works  as  the  incandescents  glare 
down  upon  their  sumptuous  high-teas. 

Amelia,  of  course,  as  became  a  girl  M-ho  had  a  legacy,  no 
longer  entangled  her  emotions  so  promiscuously  as  Ethel;  and 
it  was  characteristic  of  the  Browns  that  she  had  no  word  of  re- 
proof for  her  sister.  But  Amelia  had  no  particle  of  the  snob- 
bishness which  would  have  led  her  to  regard  her  poor  cousin 


254  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

as  so  much  East  End  dirt.  The  keen  though  unconscious  pleas- 
ure which  she  took  in  cowing  her  aunt  had  its  origin  in  quite 
another  quarter.  It  had  in  fact  two  origins.  One  was  Mrs. 
Gooderich's  stiffness  —  her  pride  in  fact  —  when  the  Browns 
were  in  the  depths,  and  the  other  was  Amelia's  knowledge, 
through  her  mother,  of  the  circumstances  that  led  up  to  Mary 
Higgs  marrying  Amelia's  Uncle  Herbert.  But  the  girl  who 
refrained  from  babbling  of  those  circumstances  to  her  sister  was 
not  likely  to  let  them  affect  her  attitude  towards  the  honestly- 
born  blood-relative  Hannibal.  Behold  here  another  point  in 
the  Brown  breed.  The  good  Berkshire  blood  which  had  gone 
to  water  in  Mrs.  Brown  was  red  enough  in  her  children,  and 
carried  with  it  a  sane  ethic  which  set  a  limit  to  the  ostracism  of 
bastardy.  For  them  a  man  honest  in  business  was  the  noblest 
work  of  God,  but  an  honest  woman  was  a  frequent  and  gratifying 
spectacle  and  nothing  to  make  a  song  about.  Ethel's  indiscre- 
tions ran  not  beyond  sitting  on  a  park  seat  with  her  lips  glued 
to  those  of  the  hour;  but  her  father  had  no  fear  whatever  that 
she  would  overstep  the  somewhat  elastic  bounds  of  suburban 
propriety.  And  for  the  very  reason  that  they  felt  passion  in 
a  healthily  subordinated  manner,  they  affected  books  and  plays 
wherein  passion  is  a  wild  and  murderous  emotional  debauch, 
and  regarded  the  Aunt  Marys  of  life  with  piquant  interest  and 
wide-eyed  wonder  at  their  foolishness. 

Hannibal,  therefore,  as  he  and  Amelia,  followed  by  Ethel 
and  John,  walked  down  the  Kennington  Road,  lay  under  no  ban 
in  his  cousin's  eyes.  She  found  herself  again  and  again  speak- 
ing without  patronage.  He,  on  the  other  hand,  was  discovering 
the  charm  of  untrammelled  speech  with  a  young  and  attentive 
woman.  It  is  encumbent  upon  us  to  acknowledge  the  genius 
of  the  Brown  family,  for  they  had  succeeded,  for  a  time  at  least, 
in  banishing  the  look  of  suspicion  and  fear  that  had  always 
sprung  into  the  boy's  eyes  at  his  mother's  mention  of  them.  It 
had  an  intricate  origin,  that  look,  for  it  was  born  of  an  instinct 
that  told  him  in  quiet  hours  that  their  way  led  far  from  his,  but 
it  had  become  merged  into  the  more  superficial  "  pride  "  which 
was  the  bane  of  his  mother's  life.  This  dispersion  could  not 
have  been  entirely  effected  by  artifice  or  even  genuine  lack  of 
pride;  the  secret  lay  in  the  fact,  hardly  manifest  to  Amelia  her- 
self yet,  that  she  was  interested  in  him. 

"I  shouldn't  like  any  onebelongin'  to  me  to  follow  the  sea/' 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  255 

she  told  him,  after  they  had  discussed  his  visit  to  the  Cygnet 
and  he  had  tried  to  convey  to  her  the  strange  charm  of  looking 
up  at  those  vast  spars  and  dizzy  topmasts,  the  unique  personality 
of  a  ship,  and  her  mute  message  from  the  great  Beyond.  "  An* 
the  figger-'ead,  it's  an  angel,  'oldin'  one  'and  to  'er  breast  and 
pointin'  upwards  like  with  the  other.  An'  all  gilt.  Hiram  Gay- 
nor  says  she  dips  right  in  sometimes  when  it's  a  storm."  He 
had  tried,  but  without  much  success.  Ships  and  the  sea  had  to 
come  across  the  theatre  footlights  to  make  any  impression  on 
Amelia.  Her  mind  was  like  the  old-fashioned  cameras;  the 
image  appeared  on  the  ground-glass  screen  upside  down,  and  it 
needed  the  condensing  lens  of  dramatic  art  to  make  any  per- 
manent impression  at  all.  He  had  grasped  his  coat  and  pointed 
"  upwards-like "  with  the  other  to  show  her  what  he  meant, 
and  she  had  smiled  and  drawn  down  the  corners  of  her  mouth 
in  a  way  he  came  to  know  well,  and  looked  round  to  see  if  any 
one  had  noticed  his  theatrical  pose.  Had  he  been  on  the  stage 
she  would  have  thrilled  at  the  gesture  and  called  it  splendid. 
In  the  Kennington  Road  it  was  "  silly." 

"  Don't ! "  she  hnd  muttered,  and  a  flash  of  the  old  suspicion 
had  darted  across  his  face,  only  to  vanish  when  she  smiled. 
"  Why,"  he  said,  following  her  glance  round.  *  Where's  Ethel 
an'  John?" 

"  Somewhere  along,"  she  answered,  as  though  the  matter  were 
of  trivial  interest.  "  We'll  see  them  at  the  theatre ;  John's  got 
the  tickets." 

When  they  reached  the  theatre  and  were  working  into  the 
crowd  that  moved  about  in  front  of  the  main  entrance,  Hannibal 
found  himself  pressed  up  against  his  cousin,  and  it  was  the 
most  natural  thing  for  him  to  put  his  arm  across  her  back  and 
steer  her  along  in  front  of  him.  She  looked  up  at  him  once  or 
twice,  her  lower  lip  between  her  teeth,  and  they  exchanged 
glances  and  trivial  remarks. 

"  It's  always  a  crush  on  Saturday  nights." 
"Yes,  s'pose  so.     Don't  worry;  I'll  look  after  you." 
"  We'll  have  to  wait  here  for  John.     This  is  the  upper  circle 
staircase." 

"Right;  where  is  'e?" 

"  There  he  is." 

John  appeared  forging  through  the  crowd,  alone. 

"Where's  Ethel?" 


256  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

"  We  met  Arthur,  so  I  gave  'em  the  tickets  an*  came  on,"  said 
the  young  mechanic.  "  They're  gassin'  about  some'ink.  Here 
y'are." 

"  John,  you  know  father's  pretty  easy,  but  he  draws  the  line 
at  Arthur,"  said  Amelia  as  they  went  up.  "  And  I  must  say  I 
agree  with  him  too.     If  he  had  any  idea " 

"  Oh,  rats,  my,  it's  all  off  in  five  minutes." 

"  I  know  that.  I'm  not  afraid  of  her  doing  anything  so  silly 
as  that.  What  I  mean  is,  I  know  and  you  know  that  Arthur's 
nothing  more  nor  less  than  a  bookie.  That's  what  I'm  so  afraid 
o'  father  hearin'." 

"  Only  now  and  again." 

"  No,  it  isn't  now  and  again.  I  see  him  myself  in  the  Ken- 
nington  Road  loitering  round  the  gates,  day  after  day.  I 
wouldn't  give  much  for  his  neck  if  father  catches  him  with  Ethel. 
You  know  how  down  he  is  on  that  sort  of  thing." 

John  did  know,  and  winced.  Hannibal  listened  to  this  little 
passage  of  arms  with  a  deep  interest.  It  is  significant  of  the 
amorphous  morality  of  our  times  that  he  should  have  grown  up 
tolerant  of  betting  and  distrustful  of  theatres  while  the  Brown 
family  took  theatres  as  a  babe  takes  milk  and  held  betting  to 
be  one  of  the  seven  deadly  sins.  For  this  latter  sentiment  is 
a  natural  outcome  of  their  theory  of  life.  They  hold  their  posi- 
tions by  virtue  of  their  capacity  for  industry  and  commerce,  and 
by  some  instinct  implanted  in  them  in  bygone  ages  they  know 
the  gambler  and  all  his  works  to  be  their  foe.  There  is  n« 
religious  feeling  in  the  matter,  it  is  a  plain  strong  morality 
fashioned  to  suit  their  temperament  and  condition.  Ethel  and 
John  were  young  and  had  not  yet  arrived  at  full  conviction. 
They  played  with  fire,  but  played  knowing  as  well  as  Amelia 
or  Mr.  Brown  that  it  was  fire;  they  never  tried  to  palliate  the 
offence. 

To  Hannibal  the  question  took  a  different  form.  His  street 
life,  in  conjunction  with  his  employment  in  the  Repositories, 
following  a  childhood  in  which  early  editions  and  talk  of  horses 
and  their  form  passed  without  criticism,  had  familiarised  him 
with  the  idea  of  betting,  and  the  bookie  was  a  mere  detail  of 
daily  experience.  Beyond  the  mild  dissipation  of  a  Derby-sweep 
his  conscience  was  clear,  for  his  interest  in  sport  was  small. 
But  Amelia's  strong  sentiments  on  the  subject,  her  obvious 
opinion  that  such  practices  were  bad  and  not  respectable,  led 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  257 

him  to  fear  that  he  himself  might  have  some  difficulty  in  appear- 
ing stainless  before  her.  The  prevailing  sentiment  in  Assembly 
Passage,  and  even  in  Stepney  Green,  was  that  a  bookie,  unless 
he  were  a  welsher,  was  a  hard-working  citizen  with  rights  like 
everybody  else.  If  he  made  a  bit  now  and  then,  as  no  doubt 
he  did,  what  of  it?  This  view  seemed  to  have  no  stability  at 
all  in  the  presence  of  Amelia's  low-spoken  denunciation  of  the 
wicked  young  Arthur.  And  with  a  sudden  pang  of  wholesome 
shame  Hannibal  recalled  the  affair  in  Assembly  Passage  when 
he  had  evaded  the  blacksmith's  attempts  at  capture.  He 
coloured  deeply  as  they  passed  into  the  theatre,  and  Amelia, 
catching  sight  of  his  face  in  a  mirror,  mistook  the  cause  of  it  and 
fell  to  pondering  upon  the  future. 


A 


4 '  j^  BIT  of  all  right/'  agreed  Hannibal,  stepping  back 
to  the  kerb  of  Billiter  Lane  and  surveying  the 
ensemble. 

You  would  scarcely  have  known  him  in  his  grey 
spring  suit,  his  oiled  hair,  his  coloured  shirt  with  the  cuffs  turned 
back,  his  preoccupied  business-like  air.  Something  of  the  past 
lingered  in  the  creased  tie,  the  ill-fitting  collar,  and  particularly 
in  the  boots.  Boots  are  extraordinary  things.  When  a  man 
has  raised  himself  in  the  world  his  boots  are  always  the  last  to 
follow  him  up.  He  is  never  sure  he  will  not  slip  back  until  his 
boots  assume  a  permanent  improvement.  For  one  thing  they 
are  so  expensive.  Perhaps  the  use  of  trees  has  a  good  deal  to 
do  with  it,  and  no  one  who  has  not  gone  through  it  can  realise 
the  tremendous  difficulties  of  acquiring  the  tree-habit.  With 
women,  success  —  in  boots  —  sometimes  lingers  until  the  daugh- 
ters are  grown  up,  and  dancing  is  an  obligation.  Small  wonder 
then  that  Hannibal's  best,  nine  months  old  and  eight-and-eleven 
in  the  Cambridge  Heath  Road,  should  contrast  poorly  with  the 
spring  trousers  and  the  oiled  hair. 

He  stood  on  the  kerb  oblivious  of  his  boots,  however,  admir- 
ing the  ensemble  of  Amelia's  venture,  which  was  to  open  next 
morning.  Mr.  Brown's  incursion  into  shop-fitting  had  been 
recent  but  thorough,  and  he  had  taken  a  genuine  pleasure  in 
putting  good  work  into  his  daughter's  premises.  The  premises 
themselves,  if  plurals  are  not  to  be  denied  to  a  floor  area  of 
eleven  feet  by  nine,  had  been  provided  with  a  sufficiency  of 
shelves  and  electric  lights  (Gilfillan  Filaments  being  specified  by 
Amelia),  a  patent  till  and  a  rubber  mat.  Outside  over  the  shop, 
Mr.  Brown's  sign  specialist  had  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  a 
fancy  of  his  own  affixed:  ground  glass  with  red  letters  which 
were  illumined  at  night. 

Amelia,  who  was  a  hotbed  of  ideas,  finally  decided  on  a  fancy 
name,  "  The  Little  Brown  Box."  Everything  was  mahogany 
in  the  shop,  it  was  no  larger  than  an  ordinary  shipping  case, 
and  her  name  was  Brown.     Again,  it  was  customary,  Amelia 

258 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  259 

knew,  for  tobacco  wholesalers  to  provide  stock  and  fittings, 
charging  the  returns  until  the  balance  was  paid  off.  This  she 
described  rather  tersely  as  robbery,  explaining  to  the  scared 
Hannibal  (in  whose  heart  Assembly  Passage  still  rankled)  that 
by  that  method  you  could  easily  pay  fifty  pounds  for  ten  pounds' 
worth  of  stuff.  So  the  capable  young  woman,  who  had  not 
been  in  a  shop  in  the  Strand  and  another  in  Holbron  for  nothing, 
ordered  her  stock  for  cash,  and  thereby  was  enabled  to  provide 
her  customers  with  what  they  wanted  and  not  with  what  some 
wholesale  firm  wanted  to  get  rid  of. 

And  now  it  was  all  ready,  window  dressed,  lights  in  order, 
scales  polished,  everything;  and  he  stood  on  the  kerb  approving. 
Amelia  came  out  and  looked  up  at  the  sign.  Then  she  looked 
at  Hannibal,  biting  her  lip  roguishly.  It  was  growing  dusk, 
and  she  tripped  inside  again  and  pressed  the  switch  that  illum- 
ined the  sign.  Vanity!  She  joined  Hannibal  on  the  kerb,  and 
together  they  stared  entranced  at  the  words,  the  red  glowing 
sans-serif  letters  of  the  sign: 

THE  LITTLE  BROWN   BOX 

"Think  it'll  take?"  she  said. 

"  Rather !  "  he  breathed. 

"  Worst  of  it  is,  it  uses  so  much  current,"  she  mused,  and 
then,  Vanity  having  had  her  turn,  Amelia  ran  inside  and 
switched  it  off. 

"If  we  were  on  a  street,  now,  I'd  leave  it  on  to-night  as  an 
advertisement,  but  nobody  ever  comes  down  here  at  night  ex- 
cept  "     She  pulled  herself  up  and  entered  the  shop  again. 

Hannibal  thought  it  very  delicate  of  her  not  to  say  "  cleaners." 

Mrs.  Gooderich  would  have  stood  any  insults  now,  however, 
for  Hannibal  seemed  to  have  turned  the  corner  and  to  be  on 
the  upward  path  of  commerce,  industry,  and  respectability. 
She  gathered,  moreover,  from  her  son's  remarks  that  he  and 
Amelia  were  on  no  mere  commercial  footing,  that  he  admired  his 
cousin  for  her  business  acumen,  her  strong  sense  and  activity. 

"  She  is  a  manager,"  he  told  his  mother. 

"Oh,  Hanny,  suppose  you  got  to  like  each  other?"  she  had 
said,  and  he  had  replied, 

*  So  we  do,  old  lady,  but  look  at  us.  She's  older'n  me  and 
she's  the  boss." 


260  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

"That  wouldn't  make  any  difference/'  she  said,  trembling. 

Hannibal  thought  it  would.  He  stood  in  a  curious  position 
toward  Amelia,  a  position  which  her  cleverness  had  managed 
to  disguise.  She  had  soon  found  that  any  hint  of  patronage 
on  her  part  roused  the  latent  fear  in  his  eyes,  and  she  had 
adopted  a  blend  of  sisterly  authority  and  business  brusqueness 
that  enabled  him  to  find  his  way  among  his  own  feelings  and 
sort  them  out,  so  to  speak,  while  the  coarser  adjustments  of 
human  intercourse  were  being  made.  This  was  cleverness,  for 
Hannibal's  nature  was  really  very  delicately  balanced.  By 
virtue  of  that  gift  of  his  for  seeing  things  in  three  dimensions 
instead  of  flat  outlines  and  absurd  silhouettes,  it  was  necessary 
to  be  most  circumspect  in  dealing  with  him.  If  Amelia  had  not 
felt  her  own  weakness  towards  him,  her  downright  criticism  and 
tuition  would  have  scared  him  away.  This  was  not  desirable, 
since  an  alien  assistant  would  have  been  expensive. 

Moreover,  she  liked  him. 

Hannibal  did  not  discover  this  all  at  once.  He  might  not  have 
discovered  it  at  all  if  she  had  not  helped  him.     As,  for  instance. 

They  had  been  busy  opening  the  cases  of  tobacco  and  cigars, 
Hannibal  solemnly  assisting  with  a  brand  new  claw-hammer, 
while  Amelia  ticked  off  the  items  on  a  long  advice-note  which 
had  come  by  post.  It  was  all  depressingly  methodical  and 
business-like,  and  Hannibal,  festooned  with  straw,  was  reminded 
of  the  Repositories  and  felt  the  tentacles  of  Commercialism  clos- 
ing around  him.  He  looked  through  the  window;  even  Billiter 
Lane  was  flooded  with  spring  sunshine.  Across  the  way  a 
steamship  company  exhibited  a  picture  of  a  great  liner  at  anchor 
in  some  tropical  port  of  the  Far  East,  the  white  hull  surrounded 
by  boats  full  of  naked  brown  men,  the  blue  sea  rimmed  by 
mountains  of  a  deeper  blue  and  crowned  by  a  violet  sky.  To 
see  "  strange  lands  from  under  the  arched  white  sails  of  ships !  " 
.  .  .  He  woke  suddenly.  Amelia  was  calling  out  "  What  next?  " 
Soberly  he  held  up  a  canister. 

"  Shag  seven  pounds,"  she  ticked.  "  That  goes  into  the  jars. 
We'll  sell  more  of  that  than  anything  else.  I  don't  know  how 
it  is.  You  never  see  men  smokin'  shag,  but  that's  the  stuff  that 
goes  quickest." 

Briskly  the  work  went  on,  Hannibal  stealing  a  glance  now 
and  then  at  the  picture  of  the  ship  and  wondering.  Hiram 
would  be  out  that  way  now;  he  had  been  bound  for  Singapore. 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  261 

Singapore!  The  name  haunted  him.  Was  that  it  in  the  dis- 
tance on  that  picture,  that  blur  of  gilt  and  white  far  down  the 
harbour.     Billiter  Lane!     Singapore! 

"That's  the  lot!"  came  Amelia's  voice  into  his  dreaming. 
"  Well,  Hanny,  if  we  sell  all  that  in  a  week,  we'll  be  rich,  won't 
we?" 

"We?"  he  said  vaguely.  "We?  It's  yours,  ain't  it?  I'm 
only  the  shopman." 

He  turned  that  full  swimming  brown  eye  upon  her  and  she 
quivered  and  laughed  nervously. 

"  Don't  be  silly." 

"  It's  a  fact.     Ten  shillin'  a  week,"  he  persisted. 

"  And  a  commission,"  she  corrected. 

"  But  it  ain't  '  we/  for  all  that." 

"  It  may  be.  It  might  be  better  to  be  partners,  p'raps,"  she 
whispered,  making  little  dents  on  the  advice-note  with  her  pencil. 

So  far  had  they  attained  when  he  had  stepped  to  the  kerb 
to  see  the  effect  of  the  ensemble.  So  far  that  he  neglected  to 
glance  again  at  the  picture  of  the  steamer.  The  Little  Brown 
Box  was  now  all  swept  and  garnished;  all  the  debris  had  been 
put  into  the  largest  case  and  stored  under  the  counter.  They 
gave  it  one  last  look  round  before  Amelia  shut  the  door,  drew 
the  lattice  gate  across  and  double  locked  it,  giving  Hannibal 
one  of  the  keys. 

"  You'll  want  a  ring,"  she  said,  and  then  stood,  thunder-struck 
at  her  own  madness.  "  For  the  keys,  I  mean,"  she  added, 
smiling. 

"  Not  for  you  ?  "  he  countered,  shaking  the  steel  gate. 

"  Oh,  go  on !  " 

It  was  plain  sailing  after  that.  The  fact  that  he  had  only  a 
few  shillings  of  his  own  worried  him  at  first,  but  the  sisterly 
manner  that  Amelia  cultivated  prevented  him  feeling  hurt  when 
she  paid  for  their  tea.  After  all,  he  had  been  working  nearly 
a  fortnight  and  so  far  had  had  no  wages.  His  reluctance  to 
"  take  hold,"  as  Mrs.  Gavnor  phrased  it,  to  be  really  business- 
like and  alert,  was  in  her  favour.  "  You  are  a  manager ! "  he 
said  to  her  as  to  his  mother.  And  I  think  that  very  defect  of 
his  was  one  of  the  reasons  that  Amelia  liked  him.  His  frank 
admiration  of  the  speed  and  skill  with  which  she  stocked  her 
show-cases  and  glass  window-shelves  was  sweet  as  civet  to  her 
hardy  spirit. 


262  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

"  I'll  be  down  at  nine  sharp  in  the  morning,"  she  told  him  as 
they  stood  near  Aldgate  Pump.  "  I  don't  suppose  there'll  be 
any  customers  for  the  first  few  minutes.  I've  a  good  mind  to 
send  circulars  round,  after  all  father  said,"  she  mused.  "  A 
neat  little  folder,  p'raps.  Lamport  and  Gooling  had  a  very 
nice  one,  I  remember.  It  was  like  a  smoker's  cabinet  and 
opened,  you  see,  and  inside  were  the  prices  and  all  particulars. 
I  wonder  if  I  could  have  something  like  that  ?  " 

Love  is  a  subordinated  passion  in  the  Browns,  remember! 
Amelia's  hand  was  in  her  cousin's  as  she  made  these  reflections, 
and  it  was  no  use  expecting  Hannibal  to  get  these  ideas.  She 
would  have  to  do  it.  And  moreover  she  liked  it.  She  had 
imagination  and  saw  her  Little  Brown  Box  thriving  and  throw- 
ing off  other  Brown  Boxes  until  London  was  studded  with  them. 
Another  idea  seized  her  as  she  stood  there  saying  good-bye,  the 
idea  of  using  flowers  to  decorate  the  Brown  Box.  Would  the 
scent  of  tobacco  kill  them?  Hannibal  didn't  know.  Then  she 
must  ask  Ethel.  Ethel,  who  had  been  at  a  florist's  in  Knights- 
bridge,  would  know. 

"It's  a  job  to  keep  up  with  you/'  he  laughed.  "All  these 
ideas !  " 

"  You  see,"  she  explained  pleasantly,  "  what  you  want  to  be 
always  on  the  watch  for  is  something  that'll  make  people  come 
in  again,  something  to  remember  you  by.  I  forgot  to  tell  you 
never  to  say  '  Don't  keep  it.'  It  don't  matter  what  it  is,  if  we 
haven't  got  it,  we  must  get  it  before  they  come  in  again.  That's 
what  a  man  likes.  Perhaps  he  won't  come  in  for  a  fortnight; 
doesn't  matter.  I  remember  a  gentleman  comin'  into  Lamport 
and  Gooling's  in  the  Strand,  and  asking  for  Capstan  Full 
Strength.  Nobody  ever  used  to  smoke  it  then.  He  didn't  come 
in  again  for  a  month,  and  then  he  asked  for  cigarettes.  When 
I  told  him  I  had  his  Full  Strength,  he  was  pleased!  And  he 
came  in  often  after  that." 

"  I  see,"  said  Hannibal. 

"  Now  people  like  flowers  and  they're  very  cheap,  with  all 
these  girls  about  the  city.     So  I'll  see  what  Ethel  says." 

She  left  nim  with  a  cheery  wave  of  the  hand,  her  underlip  in 
her  teeth,  and  Hannibal  took  his  way  eastward  meditating  on 
his  good  fortune.  It  speaks  loudly  for  the  unreasonableness  of 
his  character  that  he  should  be  unconvinced  and  sombre  on  this 
evening  previous  to  the  great  event.     She  had  signified  unmis- 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  263 

takably  that  she  was  not  indifferent  to  him.  Was  he  grateful? 
Surely  he  should  be,  when  she  had  taken  him  up  like  this,  made 
him  smart  and  useful  and  self-respecting.  Surely  this  was 
better  than  Assembly  Passage,  eh?  his  conscience  almost 
screamed  at  him.  Eh,  what?  Going  to  sea?  Yes,  better  than 
going  to  sea,  too.  Hiram?  H'm!  Hiram  didn't  tell  the  whole 
story.  What  about  fevers  and  insects  and  salt  pork?  What 
about  scurvy  and  frost  and  blinding  snow?  Eh?  Hiram  in- 
deed! 

So  his  conscience,  pecking  here  and  there  from  his  memory 
of  maternal  and  avuncular  oratory,  answered  and  overwhelmed 
him. 

"  I  see  I'm  in  for  it,"  he  remarked  to  himself.  ."  And  I  s'pose 
it  might  be  worse." 

I  do  not  think  his  mind  carried  him  as  far  forward  as  marriage. 
Indeed,  his  mind  never  carried  him  in  that  direction  at  all;  all 
his  excursions  were  made  unhampered  by  time  and  locality. 
The  most  trivial  little  thing  was  sufficient  to  set  him  off,  as  that 
shipping  poster  had  carried  him  to  Singapore  and  the  unchang- 
ing East.  What  ineffable  happiness!  To  wander  among 
strange  peoples  and  palm  trees!  Palm  trees,  and  white  min- 
aretted  jshrines,  surf-torn  beaches  and  blue  mountains ! 

As  he  strode  eastward  toward  Jubilee  Street  he  thought  again 
of  these  things.  He  figured  Hiram  on  his  ship  with  her  great 
bellying  sails  driving  through  the  deep  dark  blue  waters  of  the 
ocean,  Hiram  lying  in  his  narrow  bunk  in  that  tiny  cabin  by 
the  mast,  "  rocked  in  the  cradle  of  the  deep."  He  figured  him 
away  ashore  in  one  of  those  wonderful  dream-cities,  buying 
strange  shells  and  boxes,  seeing  astonishing  sights,  living  every 
moment  to  the  full.  And  then  he  tried  feebly  to  look  forward 
along  his  own  track,  the  humdrum  beaten  track  Amelia  was 
pointing  out  to  him. 

Some  one  bumped  into  him  and  he  awoke  with  a  sigh.  The 
roar  of  the  great  London  artery  was  all  around  him,  the  noise 
and  the  glare  of  the  shops,  the  clatter  of  hoofs,  and  the  ringing 
of  bells.  Hoarse  voices  cried  their  wares  from  barrow  and 
stand,  boys  darted  to  and  fro  in  play,  sweethearts  loitered  arm- 
in-arm  before  the  windows,  mothers  with  their  children  trailed 
in  and  out.  The  life  of  the  millions  seethed  and  bubbled  around 
him,  leaving  him  solitary  and  sad.  Once  or  twice  during  the 
last  fortnight  it  had  come  to  him  in  a  fugitive  way  that  he  lacked 


264  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

character.  Why  did  lie  feel  so  helpless  before  Amelia's  resist- 
less energy  and  capable  knowledge  of  the  world?  She  was  only 
twenty  or  so,  yet  he  was  as  a  child  in  her  hands.  Why  was  he 
always  wandering  from  the  point,  dreaming  of  far-away,  seeing 
himself  in  extraordinary  and  fantastic  regions?  Was  he  an 
idiot?  Was  he  predestined  to  fail  in  this  great  roaring  world 
into  which  fate  had  pitched  him?     He  wondered. 

He  was  silent  at  supper  that  night,  his  mother  failing  to  elicit 
more  than  monosyllables.  Anxiously,  after  the  fashion  of 
mothers,  she  supplied  his  wants,  for  your  dreamy  unpractical 
youth  is  as  ravenous  as  any  one,  in  spite  of  the  food  of  dreams 
on  which  he  feeds  in  secret. 

"  Everything  all  right,  Hanny  ?  "  she  asked  him. 

"  Yes,  I  s'pose  so,  old  lady,"  he  mumbled. 

Later  she  bent  over  him  as  he  slept,  after  the  foolish  fashion 
of  her  kind,  trembling,  yet  with  an  unwonted  gladness  in  her 
eyes.  To  launch  one  frail  craft  safely,  to  see  him  on  his  way 
secure  and  ballasted  with  gold.  .  .  .  What  happiness!  After 
long  grief  and  pain,  after  tragic  failure  and  the  bitter  bread  of 
indigence  and  neglect,  to  sink  back  and  sigh  "  nunc  dimittis." 
Could  it  be? 

She  knelt  down  and  prayed  incoherently  to  God  that  it  might 
be  so. 


VI 

IT  was  a  custom  in  the  Brown  family  to  have  occasional  re- 
unions in  their  house  off  the  Kennington  Road.  For  Mts. 
Brown,  of  course,  it  had  of  late  become  out  of  the  question, 
but  the  young  people  kept  it  up.  Tom-tom,  of  course,  was 
engaged,  and  to  a  very  nice  girl  too,  who  was  in  an  office,  in  the 
City,  and  helped  him  in  his  book-keeping.  John's  steady  flame 
burned  before  a  pale  young  lady,  "  very  refined,"  in  black,  whose 
people  had  had  losses.  Ethel,  not  to  be  outdone  at  these  gather- 
ings, would  hastily  select  from  among  her  loves  a  presentable 
specimen  (not  necessarily  engaged,  but  eligible),  and  bring  him  to 
her  father  as  "  Friend  o'  mine,  dad." 
And  Amelia  brought  in  Hannibal. 

Mr.  Brown  brought  in  a  battalion  of  old  friends  on  his  own 
account,  and  all  these  people,  shovelled  together  and  wedged 
in  the  neat  villa,  were  very  bewildering  to  Hannibal.  But  the 
Browns  enjoyed  it.  They  had,  to  its  fullest  range,  that  glorious 
gift  of  enjoying  vulgar  pleasures.  The  apple  of  their  content 
was  not  cankered  by  the  worm  of  culture  and  fastidiousness. 
They  ate  their  high  tea,  passing  each  other  salt  and  bread  and 
great  trenchers  of  provender;  they  stood  up  and  made  silly, 
laughable  speeches  while  they  cut  a  pie  and  pulled  a  cork; 
they  joked  in  a  quite  impossible  way  about  affairs  of  the  heart; 
they  sang  comic  songs  that  were  not  comic,  and  love-songs 
that  reached  to  the  depths  of  banality.  They  had  a  gramo- 
phone and  used  it,  sometimes  during  the  meal.  They  had  mando- 
lins, and  Tom-tom  went  regularly  every  Monday  and  Thursday 
to  learn  the  banjo.  Ethel,  that  youthful  Messalina  of  Ken- 
nington, played  after  a  fashion  on  the  piano,  by  which  I  mean 
she  vamped,  and  having  a  good  ear  and  a  non-critical  audience, 
she  did  better  than  many.  Later  on  in  their  career  they  took  up 
piano-players  and  the  gramophone  was  put  in  the  breakfast-room. 
For  the  Browns  are  the  real  supporters  of  progress  in  the  Arts. 
They  are  always  the  first  to  take  up  the  new  idea.  Who  had 
incandescent  mantles  first?  Neither  you  nor  I;  but  the  Browns 
had  them  while  we  walked  in  darkness.     Who  first  discarded  the 

265 


266  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

old  musical-box  and  bought  the  gramophone?  Who  seized  the 
safety  bicycle  and  made  it  their  own?  Who  listens  to  the  voice 
of  the  inventor  crying  in  the  wilderness?  Not  the  cultured  and 
leisured  ones  of  the  land,  not  the  literary  and  scientific,  but  the 
Browns,  the  Cerebos  of  the  earth.  They  are  the  people  who  read 
the  advertisements. 

The  subject  of  the  hour  when  Hannibal  first  attended  one  of 
these  functions  was  dancing.  John  was  taking  lessons  and  was 
very  serious  about  it,  by  which  I  mean  he  was  "  taking  hold  " 
and  studying  the  subject.  Ethel  seemed  always  able  to  hop 
about,  and  quite  surprised  them  all  by  stating  her  intention  of 
"  taking  it  up/' 

"  Why,  I  thought  you  knew  all  about  it,"  said  her  father,  carv- 
ing cold  beef.     Ethel  smiled  in  a  superior  way. 

"  Oh,  I've  only  picked  it  up,  dad.     Lessons  are  different." 

She  took  it  up,  dropped  it,  took  it  up  again,  and  then,  in 
consequence  of  a  disappointment  (the  young  man  going  to 
Honolulu  without  warning),  abandoned  dancing  for  professional 
rinking,  which  rolled  her,  almost  before  she  was  aware  of  it,  into 
the  arms  of  a  husband. 

Hannibal  sat  amid  the  clatter  of  knives  and  forks  and  the 
babel  of  the  reunion  ill  at  ease.  Here  was  another  of  his  de- 
fects being  painfully  shown  up.  When  Amelia  asked  him  if  he 
could  dance,  he  shook  his  head  mournfully. 

"  Then  you  must  learn,"  she  informed  him.  What  a  girl  she 
was  for  ideas!  He  hadn't  thought  of  that.  The  same  with 
cards.  After  tea  he  sat  beside  her,  cards  in  hand,  trying  to 
keep  his  attention  on  the  game.  If  you  can't  do  a  thing,  take 
hold  and  learn.  How  efficient  they  all  were !  Even  Mr.  Brown 
was  winning  a  whole  heap  of  wax  vestas  at  whist.  Later  they 
began  singing.  Tom-tom  led  off  with  "  Sing  me  to  sleep,"  ac- 
companied by  John's  sweetheart,  all  joining  in  the  chorus. 
By  this  time  Mr.  Brown  and  his  senior  friends  were  sitting  over 
cigars  and  whisky  in  the  dining-room,  leaving  the  youngsters  to 
themselves  and  their  love-making  in  the  drawing-room.  For  the 
Browns  had  no  pride  and  no  false  shame  in  making  love  under 
three  incandescent  mantles.  They  kissed  each  other,  and  sat 
on  each  other's  knees  in  a  most  refreshingly  frank  fashion,  and 
when  John  trod  on  Amelia's  skirt  and  brought  it  down,  there  was 
a  roar  of  merriment  and  every  one  helped  to  fix  it  up  again. 
And  then  when  Ethel  was  forced  on  to  the  piano  stool  and  they 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  267 

began  whirling  round  to  the  measure  of  a  waltz,  Hannibal  found 
himself  seized. 

"Come  on,  I'll  show  you,"  said  a  laughing  voice  in  his  ear; 
and  before  he  was  aware  of  it  he  was  holding  Amelia's  waist  and 
watching  John's  agile  feet  in  an  endeavour  to  glide.  He  was 
terribly  self-conscious  and  awkward,  but  to  the  Browns  self- 
consciousness  while  learning  to  do  anything  was  a  forgotten 
myth.  All  they  demanded  of  you  was  that  you  should  try,  and 
be  good-tempered.  "  Keep  on  your  toes,"  commanded  Amelia, 
doing  her  best  to  avoid  shipwreck  against  the  corner  of  the  piano. 
If  she  had  added,  "  And  keep  off  mine,"  the  advice  would  not 
have  been  out  of  place. 

At  length  the  "  dreamy "  waltz  tune  was  shut  off  in  the 
middle  of  the  bar  in  the  irritating  way  amateur  musicians  have, 
and  the  sliding  molecules  of  humanity  stopped  and  broke  away 
with  laughter  and  gasps  for  breath. 

"  Do  you  like  it?  "  asked  Amelia,  readjusting  a  hairpin.  Her 
cheeks  were  flushed,  and  when  she  showed  her  even  teeth  she 
looked  almost  pretty.  Hannibal  felt  to  see  if  his  tie  was  up  at 
the  back,  and  then  laughed. 

"  Don't  know  if  I'll  ever  be  much  good  at  it,"  he  replied. 
"  I  never  went  in  for  that  sort  o'  thing  much." 
"But  you  will?" 
"Why  — I  s'poseso." 

A  shadow  crossed  Amelia's  face  as  she  looked  at  him.  She 
liked  him;  he  seemed  all  right  in  the  Little  Brown  Box,  and  he 
looked  a  very  desirable  young  man  as  he  stood  there,  his  face 
flushed  and  his  attractive  brown  eyes  smiling  at  her.  But  she 
did  not  like  this  streak  of  ineffectiveness,  this  lack  of  "  go." 
To  her  it  was  silly  for  a  man  to  be  reluctant  when  you  showed 
him  the  way.  She  looked  over  to  where  John  was  explaining 
to  Ethel  and  Tom-tom  the  intricacies  of  his  last  lesson.  Wild 
horses,  Red  Indians,  all  Hell  would  not  stop  John  in  his  pursuit 
of  the  art  of  dancing  now  he  had  taken  it  up.  But  Hannibal 
did  not  seem  interested. 

It  was  quite  true  that  he  was  doing  pretty  well  at  the  Little 
Brown  Box.  Each  morning  he  opened  the  collapsible  gate  and 
pulled  up  the  brown  blinds,  each  evening  he  lowered  those  same 
blinds  and  locked  the  gate.  He  was  slowly  acquiring  familiarity 
with  the  stock,  and  had  even  made  one  or  two  ventures  in  the 
direction  of  "  patter,"  that  light  conversation  which  many  cus- 


268  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

tomers  ignore  when  it  is  offered,  yet  miss  when  it  is  denied  them. 
To  Amelia  it  came  as  naturally  as  breathing.  Comments  on  the 
weather  came  pattering  from  her  lips  as  pearls  fell  from  the  lips 
of  the  lady  in  the  fairy  story.  As  for  Hannibal,  if  his  remarks 
had  been  frogs  they  could  not  have  been  more  difficult  to  bring 
up.  People  seemed  to  answer  Amelia,  giving  her  an  opening,  so 
to  speak.  She  would  say,  "  Looks  as  if  it  was  clearing,  doesn't 
it  ?  "  and  the  customer  would  laugh  grimly  and  say  he  hoped  so, 
but  was  not  going  to  put  his  money  on  London  weather.  If  it 
were  gloriously  fine,  she  would  suggest  it  was  a  good  day  to 
change  a  sovereign,  and  the  customer  would  cackle  with  amuse- 
ment and  ask  her  what  she  did  with  herself  during  the  long 
evenings.  But  if  Hannibal,  after  severe  thought,  alluded  to  the 
fineness  of  the  day,  the  customer  would  either  ignore  him  alto- 
gether or  point  out  with  biting  politeness  a  shortage  in  the  change 
which  Hannibal  was  tendering. 
He  began  to  hate  the  weather. 

Eventually,  however,  Amelia  contented  herself  with  a  daily 
visit  to  let  him  go  and  get  his  dinner.  They  got  on  very  well 
when  they  were  by  themselves.  It  was  in  the  company  of  the 
Browns  and  their  kindred  that  she  found  something  lacking  in 
his  spirit.  When  they  were  alone,  I  think  she  rather  preferred 
his  quietness  and  the  little  affectionate  way  he  had  of  touching 
her  cheek  with  his  finger,  of  settling  her  collarette  under  her 
jacket,  and  other  habits  that  he  practised  but  did  not  speak  of. 
It  is  possible,  though  it  seems  madness  to  suggest  it,  that  the 
Browns'  scheme  of  existence  had  left  one  of  the  human  instincts 
unprovided  for,  that  the  jolly,  efficient,  sociable  Brown  religion 
was  at  times  a  little  trying  even  to  its  communicants,  and  that 
Amelia  was  unconsciously  drawn  to  her  cousin  by  reason  of  his 
deficiencies.  Those  flowers  in  the  Little  Brown  Box  led  me  to 
think  there  might  be  something  in  this  view,  those  flowers  and  the 
canaries  who  sang  high  up  among  the  cigar  stock.  Perhaps 
there  was  a  streak  of  poetry  in  Amelia,  a  thin  vein  of  gold  in 
the  quartz  of  her  nature.  The  worst  of  the  Browns  is,  that  when 
they  become  aware  of  the  vein  of  gold  they  turn  it  into  money. 
The  Little  Brown  Box  was  getting  a  name  for  its  flowers  and 
canaries.     They  brought  custom  and  business  was  good. 

To  Mrs.  Gooderrch  there  came  one  benefit  of  all  this:  she 
escaped  from  Amelia's  bullying.  It  sounds  harsh  when  written 
down,  but  no  other  word  is  to  be  found  to  express  so  justly  the 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  269 

attitude  of  well-fed  young  women  towards  a  dispirited  widow 
who  is  cursed  with  pride.  Attaining  to  a  certain  vague  sym- 
pathy with  Hannibal's  nature  she  found  her  feelings  altered 
towards  his  mother.  She  paid  visits,  unknown  to  him,  to  Jubilee 
Street.  She  met  Mrs.  Gaynor  there  once,  and  experienced  that 
lady's  soothing  influence.  It  was  at  this  time  that  she  was  made 
aware  of  her  Cousin  Minnie's  presence  in  London.  The  details 
were  meagre  enough;  she  was  in  partnership  with  a  French- 
woman in  Ebury  Street,  in  a  dressmaking  business.  Enquiry 
from  Ethel  elicited  the  fact  that  Ebury  Street  was  "  all  right, 
down  Chelsea  way,  penny  'bus  from  the  top  of  Sloane  Street." 
But  Amelia  was  in  no  mood  now  to  make  up  any  scandal  about 
her  relatives.  There  was  nothing  to  be  got  from  Mrs.  Gaynor 
anyway.  She  had  the  strangest  way  of  hoping  and  believing 
Minnie  was  behaving  respectably,  and  if  she  was,  Mrs.  Gaynor 
said,  what  were  you  going  to  do  about  it?  Being  a  Brown,  this 
was  a  little  bewildering  to  Amelia,  but  she  rested  content  with  the 
facts. 

And  Hannibal  behind  the  counter  —  what  of  him?  We  have 
seen  him  at  the  reunion,  a  rather  unadaptable  youth  bewildered 
with  novel  ideas  of  amusement,  abashed  equally  before  the  giddy 
Ethel  and  John's  refined  young  lady.  He  was  not  "  at  his  best  " 
at  the  reunion.  But  behind  the  counter,  beneath  the  canaries  and 
within  sight  of  that  picture  of  the  steamer  across  the  way,  how 
did  he  fare,  this  inarticulate  lad  with  his  long  thoughts? 

The  fact  is,  he  had  formed  another  habit  of  which  Amelia 
was  not  aware.  Even  chartermg-clerks  and  water-clerks,  to 
say  nothing  of  shipowners  hurrying  to  and  from  the  Baltic, 
are  not  in  continual  need  of  tobacco  and  cigars,  and  Hannibal 
had  periods  of  inaction  when  the  shop  was  deserted.  He  could 
not  smoke  continually  (Amelia  discouraged  smoking  behind  the 
counter,  anyway),  and  he  fell  into  the  newspaper  habit.  It 
gave  him  subjects  for  conversation,  if  a  customer  were  not  in  a 
hurry.  But  the  newspaper,  admittedly  a  great  and  glorious 
institution,  has  its  limitations.  The  Literary  Year  Book  tells 
me  it  is  primarily  for  the  dissemination  of  news,  and  I  am  willing 
to  believe  it,  though  I  find  a  good  many  advertisements.  Hanni- 
bal's paper,  for  example,  which  cost  him  a  halfpenny,  devoted 
the  front  page  to  a  New  Corset.  The  back  page  was  occupied 
by  a  "  heart  to  heart  talk  "  by  the  write-up  expert  attached  to 
Gilfillan  Filaments  Limited.     It  was  called  "  Darkest  London 


270  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

and  the  Way  Out,"  and  the  new  form  of  filament  now  offered  was 
modestly  described  as  The  Light  of  the  World.  Opening  the 
journal,  you  found  inside  still  more  appeals  to  your  better  nature 
by  the  retailers  of  Cocoa  and  Whisky  firms.  You  found  elixirs 
which  reduced  your  fat,  secrets  which  increased  your  fat,  "  home 
treatments  "  which,  if  you  were  a  lady,  would  develop  your  bust 
until  you  resembled  a  pouter  pigeon.  Illustrations  were  pro- 
vided to  show  you  the  gradual  inflation.  It  may  add  to  your 
opinion  of  Mrs.  Gooderich  to  know  that  Hannibal  did  not  care 
to  look  at  those  illustrations;  they  seemed  to  him  unpleasant.  If 
you  were  a  man  and  suffered  excruciating  agony  in  your  spine,  as 
per  illustration  of  a  pain-racked  Laocoon,  you  were  informed 
that  you  had  only  yourself  to  blame,  since  Elixerine  was  just 
two-and-ninepence  a  bottle  and  every  chemist  kept  it.  Furnish- 
ing firms  pleaded  with  you  to  avoid  wrecking  your  happiness  and 
Her's  by  senseless  delay.  Home !  Was  it  not  the  sweetest  word 
in  our  noble  English  tongue?  Had  you  no  duty  to  the  Mother- 
land, to  Love,  to  your  unborn  children?  Were  they  to  come  into 
the  world  and  find  you  —  married,  no  doubt  —  but  without  that 
exquisite  drawing-room  suite  at  six  shillings  down  and  the  bal- 
ance at  threepence  a  week?  Hannibal  became  quite  disturbed 
when  he  read  some  of  these,  but  they  were  pastiche  compared 
with  the  shrieks  arising  from  the  columns  where  the  unguents 
"  distilled  from  rare  herbs  indigenous  to  the  Upper  Himalayas  " 
were  described.  "  I  was  a  mass  of  scabs,"  reported  a  lady  in 
high  society;  and  did  not  seem  a  bit  ashamed  of  it  either,  for 
there  was  her  portrait,  with  jewels  and  scabs  complete.  Hanni- 
bal's notions  of  high  society  were  confused  enough,  but  he  thought 
-"  it  was  a  case  for  a  'orspital "  when  one's  face  got  as  bad  as 
that. 

Eventually  his  wandering  mind  was  caught  by  an  item  of 
news  hidden  away  in  the  middle  of  the  paper,  far  from  the 
madding  crowd's  ignoble  strife,  a  brief  report  of  a  fire  in  China, 
where  a  couple  of  hundred  thousand  had  been  driven  from 
their  homes  by  the  flames.  His  imagination  was  caught  by  the 
news;  he  tried  to  figure  to  himself  all  those  terrified  yellow 
men  and  women  battling  with  the  fire,  the  roar  as  the  wind  blew 
it  onward,  the  cries  of  the  dying,  the  desolation  of  the  smoking 
ruins.  He  wished  there  was  more  about  it,  but  somehow  the 
newspaper  had  no  room  for  any  more.  There  was  a  most  elo- 
quent article  just  below  —  over  half  a  column  —  giving  the  circu- 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  271 

lation  figures  of  the  paper  for  the  previous  month.  There  he 
saw  another  paragraph  stating  that  a  sailing  ship  had  been  lost 
with  all  hands  off  Cape  Horn,  and  Hannibal's  thoughts  went 
back  to  Hiram  on  the  Cygnet.  He  would  close  his  paper  and 
put  it  away  under  the  counter  with  a  sigh.  The  agony  of  those 
yellow  men,  that  last  fight  with  all-encompassing  death  in  the 
storm,  these  things  seemed  trivial  indeed  to  the  newspaper.  Evi- 
dently people  did  not  want  to  be  told  what  was  happening  in 
the  great  world.     They  wanted  to  be  told  what  to  buy. 

He  had  an  idea  one  day,  though  this  has  nothing  to  do  with 
the  habit.  Amelia  came  in  with  her  usual  briskness,  and  after 
smiling  a  greeting  she  stood  looking  round  critically  at  the 
counter-dressing,  considering  improvements. 

"  Goddness  me !  What's  that  ?  "  she  exclaimed,  as  a  faint 
squeal  reached  her  ears.  Hannibal  grinned  and  beckoned  her  to 
come  round.  She  came  round  quickly  and  stopped  short  at  the 
sight.  A  small  grey  kitten  was  trying  valiantly  to  climb  up  his 
leg,  a  tiny  atom  of  a  thing,  with  a  pointed  tail  and  scared  eyes. 

Amelia  did  not  like  cats,  and  she  was  about  to  say  so  sharply 
when  something  in  his  attitude  as  he  stooped  and  took  the  little 
thing  in  his  arms  made  her  pause.  His  face  was  apologetic, 
yet 

"  Thought  it  'Id  be  company,"  he  muttered.  "  They  was 
goin'  to  drown  it,  so  I  fetched  it  up." 

"  Nasty    little    things,"    she   muttered.     "  I    can't  bear   'em." 

The  kitten  clambered  up  on  his  shoulder,  and  erecting  the 
pointed  tail  seemed  well  pleased. 

"  Mind  you  don't  leave  the  canaries  down  on  the  floor  then 
when  you  clean  the  cage,"  she  warned  him. 

"  That's  all  right,  Amy.     You  don't  mind  me  'avin'  it?  " 

"If  you  really  want  it,  only  we  don't  want  a  menagerie  in 
the  shop,  do  we  ?  " 

"  No.     Only  time  'angs  a  bit  in  the  mornin's,  you  see." 

"  You  ought  to  follow  the  news.     Keep  up  with  the  times." 

"  So  I  do,  but  there's  nothin'  in  the  paper  'cept  advertise- 
ments." 

"  Well,  why  not  get  a  book  out  of  the  libr'y  ?  It  passes  the 
time." 

"That's  a  good  idea!"  he  remarked,  stroking  the  kitten. 
"  There's  an  ol'  book-shop  in  Aldgit  I  pass  every  mornin'. 
There's  all  sorts  in  the  tuppeny  box.     I'll  'ave  a  look  at  'em." 


272  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

"  You  don't  want  to  buy  books !  "  she  nearly  screamed.  There 
are  some  things  the  Browns  of  this  world  cannot  and  will  not 
stand,  and  spending  money  on  books  is  one  of  them.  Buying  a 
book  is  with  them  a  sign  of  a  mind  unhinged. 

"  Now  an'  again,"  he  suggested,  cowed.  "  They're  only  tup- 
pence." 

And  that  was  how  he  contracted  the  habit  which  led  to  ac- 
quaintance with  Mr.  Brober. 


VII 

IT  was  he  who  spoke  first  as  Hannibal  shyly  took  up  book 
after  book  in  the  twopenny  box  and  scanned  the  pages  for 
something  that  might  interest  him.  The  twopenny  box  did 
not  seem  to  contain  much  of  that  sort.  In  fact,  whatever 
the  authors  of  those  books  had  aimed  to  accomplish,  it  was  not  to 
thrill  the  reader. 

"  Student  ?  "  enquired  Mr.  Brober,  a  black  briar  in  his  mouth. 
He  was  an  elderly  unclean  man,  in  an  old  frock  coat  and  a  golf 
cap  of  uncertain  shape,  and  his  shoulders  were  bent  as  he  ac- 
costed Hannibal. 

The  young  man  put  the  book  down  nervously  and  laughed. 

"Me?     No,  Mister." 

He  might  have  been,  thought  Mr.  Grober,  looking  him  over. 
He  often  had  poor  students  at  his  shop,  dressed  in  shabby  suits 
and  amorphous  boots.  For  Hannibal's  new  spring  suit,  fol- 
lowing the  eternal  law  of  spring  suits  selling  ready-made  at 
twenty-seven  shillings  (vide  advertisement  twice  a  week  in  Han- 
nibal's halfpenny  paper),  was  now,  after  six  months'  wear,  de- 
crepit, without  form  and  void  of  symmetry. 

"  I  was  going  to  say,"  continued  Mr.  Grober,  "  that  if  you 
were,  I  have  a  stock  of  text-books  inside  at  extremely  low  prices. 
Come  in." 

"  I  was  only  lookin'  fer  something  to  read,"  explained  Hanni- 
bal apologetically,  as  though  such  a  motive  were  unheard  of 
by  a  bookseller.  And  he  followed  the  old  man  into  the  gloom 
of  his  shop. 

"  Here  they  are,"  said  Mr.  Grober,  indicating  several  shelves 
of  thin  books  with  gilt  letters  on  the  backs,  Classics,  Mathematics, 
and  Science. 

Hannibal  shook  his  head. 

"  No  use  to  me,"  he  assured  the  old  gentleman.  "  I've  got 
no  'ead  for  that  stuff." 

"  Then  what  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Grober,  sitting  down  in  his  chair 
again.     "  What  is  the  sort  of  work  vou  require?  " 

"Work?"  echoed  Hannibal  blankly. 

273 


274  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

"  I  mean  book/'  Mr.  Grober  corrected.  "  What  sort  of  book 
do  you  require  ?  " 

Hannibal  gazed  round  helplessly  at  the  dusty  shelves.  "  Some- 
thing to  read,"  he  replied. 

"  Novels  ?  " 

"  No,  not  novels/'  Hannibal's  notion  of  novels  was  confined 
to  the  formidably  long  romances  his  mother  had  been  accus- 
tomed to  read.     "  Not  novels." 

"What  then?     Books  of  travel  or " 

"Ah!  Something  about  the  sea.  I  s'pose  you  'aven't  any- 
thing like  that  —  cheap  ?  "     He  waved  his  hands. 

This  was  the  beginning  of  Hannibal's  induction  to  literature. 
For  nearly  an  hour  he  sat  in  the  dusty  shop  while  Mr.  Grober 
descanted  upon  the  decline  of  taste  in  good  literature.  Many 
of  his  remarks  fell  upon  empty  air.  It  was  evident  that  Mr. 
Grober  only  required  an  audience,  he  took  replies  for  granted. 
Eventually,  however,  he  came  round  to  the  subject  of  immedi- 
ate interest  to  Hannibal.  He  directed  attention  to  a  box  of 
paper-covered  books  and  explained  his  system.  When  you  had 
read  it,  you  brought  it  back  to  Mr.  Grober  in  good  condition, 
and  he  gave  you  twopence  for  it.  By  this  scheme  you  paid  a 
penny  only  for  a  volume  published  at  sixpence  or  a  shilling. 
To  Hannibal  the  scheme  seemed  admirably  adapted  to  his  needs, 
and  begged  Mr.  Grober  to  select  something  for  him.  Re- 
lighting his  black  briar,  Mr.  Grober  complied,  laying  out  volume 
after  volume.  Many  of  them  seemed  to  the  lad  to  belong  to 
that  class  of  literature  known  to  illiterate  folk  as  "  blue."  There 
was  Manon  Lescaut,  Mon  Uncle  Barbassou,  Moll  Flanders,  Ma- 
dame Bovary,  and  those  beautiful  short  stories  with  which  Emile 
Zola  lightened  the  sombre  burden  of  his  days.  Then  Hannibal's 
eye  lighted  upon  An  Iceland  Fisherman,  and  he  took  it  up. 

"  It's  about  the  sea,"  he  said,  and  Mr.  Grober  nodded. 

"  One  of  the  most  exquisite  idylls  of  the  sea,"  he  remarked. 
"  I  doubt  if  you  will  quite  appreciate  to  the  full  the  genius  of 
Loti." 

"  I  think  I'll  take  this  for  a  start,"  said  Hannibal,  producing 
threepence.  "  I  was  thinkin'  o'  goin'  to  sea  once,"  he  con- 
fided. 

Mr.  Grober  was  not  interested  in  this.  He  was  one  of  those 
men  who  can  be  reached  by  no  other  channel  save  that  of  litera- 
ture.    He  would  have  passed  every  fisherman  from  Dundee  to 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  275 

Southwold  without  noticing  they  were  fishermen,  but  An  Iceland 
Fisherman  was  literature,  ergo  he  knew  all  about  it. 

How  shall  we  describe  the  boy's  delight  in  the  new  world 
that  now  opened  out  before  him?  Ravenously  he  followed  the 
fortunes  of  those  French  sailors  in  the  stormy  north  seas,  in 
the  treacherous  Channel  and  out  in  the  burning  East.  Sometimes 
he  would  draw  a  long  breath  and  look  out  long  and  earnestly  at 
that  steamer  in  the  blue  harbour,  while  the  grey  kitten  climbed 
over  him,  purring  in  his  ear,  and  the  canaries  sang  above  him. 
And  then,  when  the  door  opened  and  a  customer  came  in,  he 
would  return  to  reality  with  a  jump  and  pursue  his  business  of 
selling  tobacco. 

"  It's  all  right,  that,"  he  told  Mr.  Grober  when  he  brought 
it  back.  There  was  a  slight  crack  in  the  cover  which  he  feared 
had  not  improved  the  volume,  but  Mr.  Grober  did  not  notice  it 
and  motioned  to  him  to  pick  out  another. 

It  was  late,  for  he  had  been  for  a  walk  with  Amelia,  and 
near  closing  time,  and  Mr.  Grober  seemed  taciturn  and  uneasy. 
As  Hannibal  turned  round  he  saw  the  door  at  the  back  partly 
open  and  a  sharp-featured  woman  peering  out.  The  door  closed 
abruptly  as  he  turned.  Mr.  Grober  followed  him  outside  to 
bring  in  the  boxes  preparatory  to  shutting  up.  Hannibal,  sens- 
ing Mr.  Grober's  desire  to  explain  something,  flung  his  thumb 
over  his  shoulder. 

"  Old  lady  ?  "  he  asked  in  a  low  tone.  Mr.  Grober  bowed  his 
head  over  the  threepenny  box. 

"  The  same,"  he  said. 

"  I  see,"  said  Hannibal,  though  he  saw  nothing. 

"  The  fact  is,"  said  Mr.  Grober,  straightening  himself  with 
the  box  on  his  hands.  "  The  fact  is,  my  young  friend,  that 
though  many  of  our  master  minds  have  described  Hell,  and  many 
of  our  great  painters  have  endeavoured  to  represent  it  on  canvas, 
not  one  of  them  has  succeeded  in  portraying  anything  so  ghastly 
as  a  square  peg  in  a  round  hole ! 

And  Mr.  Grober  marched  slowly  into  the  shop  and  deposited 
the  box  on  a  chair.  Hannibal  stood  waiting  for  further  revela- 
tions, hoping  they  might  be  clearer  than  this  one.  When  the  old 
man  emerged  and  bore  down  upon  the  twopenny  box,  he  said: 

"  'Ow  d'  you  mean,  Mister?  " 

"  I  mean,"  said  Mr.  Grober,  "  I  mean  that  the  torments  of  a 
Lost  Soul  are  radiant  bliss  compared  with  the  life  of  an  Idealist 


276  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

in  a  world  of  Stark  Reality ! "  And  in  he  went,  his  old  golf 
cap  askew  on  his  grey  head,  his  untidy  head  on  his  breast,  a  for- 
lorn and  weary  figure. 

"  What's  up,  Mister?  "  enquired  the  youth  when  he  reappeared 
to  pull  down  the  shutters.  Mr.  Grober  grasped  the  pole  and 
held  it  out  at  arm's  length,  looking  sternly  up  the  street.  The 
few  people  who  were  passing  took  no  notice  of  them. 

"  Under  your  arm,"  remarked  Mr.  Grober,  "  you  have  the 
story  of  a  man  who  never  married.  Eventually  he  drowned  him- 
self.    He  chose  the  better  part." 

And  pulling  down  his  shutter  with  a  jar  and  a  bang,  Mr. 
Grober  re-entered  his  premises. 

Hannibal,  Toilers  of  the  Sea  safe  in  his  pocket,  went  home  in 
deep  thought.  To  a  certain  extent  he  understood  Mr.  Grober's 
cryptic  utterances  to  refer  to  domestic  affairs.  Things,  he  con- 
cluded, had  gone  wrong  between  'em.  Old  chap  was  fed  up, 
perhaps.  She  didn't  look  over  good-tempered.  He  told  his 
mother  about  it  over  his  supper. 

"  P'raps,  he  drinks,"  said  Mrs.  Gooderich.  "  What  'ave  you 
got  this  time  ? "  She  looked  through  Victor  Hugo's  pages. 
"  What  is  it,  a  novel?  "  she  asked. 

"  I  reckon  it's  a  story  from  the  look  of  it,"  he  returned, 
"  but  not  like  that  one  you're  readin'."  And  he  pointed  with 
his  knife  to  where  Mrs.  Southworth's  works  lay  among  the 
things  on  a  side-table.  Mrs.  Gooderich  would  not  argue  this 
point  with  a  young  man.  One  of  the  remnants  which  made  up 
her  ethical  bundle  was  a  disbelief  in  too  much  reading  for  chil- 
dren. Certainly  her  children  had  never  indulged  themselves  in 
this  vice.  She  regarded  the  book  with  suspicion.  About  a  man 
who  never  married,  eh?  And  Mr.  Grober  said  he  chose  the  bet- 
ter part.  What  a  difference  between  such  books  and  Ishmael, 
which  was  about  a  man  who  had  two  wives  at  once !  Of  course, 
it  was  all  a  terrible  mistake,  and  didn't  he  pay  bitterly  for  it? 
But  that  was  so  true.  We  do  pay  for  our  mistakes,  Mrs.  Goode- 
rich thought. 

"  He's  a  funny  old  chap,"  Hannibal  went  on.  "  He  talks  like 
a  book." 

"  I  only  'ope,"  said  Mrs.  Gooderich,  "  that  'e  won't  go  puttin' 
ideas  into  your  'ead,  that's  all." 

It  would  be  a  grave  offence,  she  thought,  to  put  ideas  into 
people's  heads. 


VIII 

WHEN  Amelia  came  briskly  along  Billiter  Lane  one 
evening  in  May,  she  crossed  over  to  the  other  side 
to  obtain  a  good  view  of  the  Little  Brown  Box. 
Everything  was  in  apple-pie  order  in  the  win- 
dow, she  noted,  the  sign  had  been  cleaned,  the  door-handles  were 
bright,  and  her  face  expressed  calm  approval.  What  a  pity 
Hanny  was  such  a  stick  to  go  out  with !  He  didn't  seem  to  have 
any  idea  what  to  say  to  a  girl.  That  reading  habit  of  his  seemed 
to  be  spoiling  him.  She  stood  a  few  moments  watching,  but 
there  was  no  sign  of  him  coming  out  to  meet  her.  H'm!  Read- 
ing, very  likely,  or  playing  with  the  kitten.  She  stepped  across, 
opened  the  door,  and  found  the  place  empty. 

For  a  moment  she  looked  round  helplessly,  her  brain  stunned 
by  the  enormity  of  the  thing.  A  canary  trilled  and  twittered  at 
her,  but  she  took  no  notice.  The  kitten,  asleep  on  the  counter, 
stretched  and  curled  up  again.  Amelia  drew  a  quick  breath, 
stepped  behind  the  counter  and  took  off  her  things.  She  hardly 
knew  what  to  think.  Had  there  been  an  accident?  Had 
he  .  .  .  ?  She  darted  to  the  till,  unlocked  it  and  counted  fev- 
erishly. No,  it  seemed  about  as  usual.  What  then?  Suddenly 
a  figure  passed  the  window,  the  door  opened  and  Hannibal  came 
in.     Her  face  hardened. 

"  This  the  way  you  look  after  your  work?  "  she  asked. 

"  Just  went  out  for  some  change,  Amy,"  he  replied,  his 
eyes  faltering  as  he  glanced  from  the  open  till  to  her  face. 
He  came  round  and  put  some  silver  into  the  drawer.  She  looked 
at  him  coldly. 

"  Wrhy  didn't  you  lock  the  door?"  she  asked.  "The  whole 
place  might  have  been  cleared  out.  How  long  have  you  been 
away? 

"  Only  a  minute." 

"  I've  been  here  five,"  she  said,  and  a  curious  look  came 
over  her  face.  "  We'd  better  have  it  out  now  or  we'll  get  into 
a  bad  way,"  she  went  on. 

277 


278  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

"  I  can  seen  who  comes  in  from  —  from  the  other  place," 
he  said  sullenly. 

"What  other  place?" 

"  The  pub  down  —  on  the  other  side/'  he  said. 

"  Oh,  you  get  change  at  the  pub,  do  you  ?  What's  the  mat- 
ter with  the  bank?  I  thought  we'd  arranged  all  that.  You've 
got  all  the  change  you  need  there,  as  far  as  I  can  see." 

"  Oh,  all  right,  all  right,"  he  muttered. 

"  It  isn't  all  right,  all  right,"  she  retorted.  "  This  shop's 
mine,  and  I  can't  afford  to  have  it  left  alone,  that's  all." 

"  Anybody 'd  think  I  was  out  all  the  time,"  he  complained. 

"  As  you  will  be  if  nobody  says  anything."  She  turned  away 
with  a  gesture  of  vexation.  "  I  was  comin'  up  to  ask  you  to 
come  over  to  supper  this  evenin',  and  —  and  this  spoils  it  all." 
She  finished  with  a  break  in  her  voice.  Hannibal  was  silent, 
shifting  uncomfortably  from  foot  to  foot. 

"  It  won't  'appen  agen,"  he  said  at  length. 

"How  do  I  know?"  she  flung  at  him  passionately.  "I 
thought  we  were  goin'  to  get  on  so  well,  too." 

He  turned  and  put  out  his  hand  as  though  to  toucli  her, 
but  she  moved  away  and  his  hand  dropped  irresolutely.  A 
customer  came  in  and  broke  the  spell,  and  Hannibal  busied 
himself  with  the  stock  while  Amelia  served.  When  the  man 
had  gone  out,  she  began  again. 

"  Promise  me,"  she  said,  steadily.  "  Promise  me  you  won't  go 
into  a  pub  again." 

"  All  right,"  he  answered  in  a  low  voice. 

"  Can't  you  see,"  she  queried,  "  how  important  it  is  not  to 
leave  the  shop  for  a  minute?  It's  all  for  your  own  good,  isn't 
it?  If  people  come  in  .  .  .  why  the  business'll  drop  right  down 
if  people  come  in  and  find  nobody  here !  "  She  looked  at  him 
wide-eyed.  All  the  tradition  of  the  Brown  family  was  outraged 
by  this  terrible  and  unheard-of  defection.  Hannibal  twisted 
uneasily  under  her  gaze. 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  he  muttered. 

"  I  only  hope,"  she  said,  "  you're  tellin'  me  the  truth,  and 
you  didn't  go  to  the  pub  for  anything  else.  I  don't  like  those 
places.     They  never  did  anybody  any  good  yet." 

He  was  silent. 

"  You  haven't  promised  me,  Hanny,"  she  added  gently. 

"  All  right,"  he  said.     "  You  know  best,  I  s'pose." 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  279 

"  I  do,  that's  a  fact.  Now,  are  you  comin'  down  to  Kenning- 
ton?" 

"  Yes,  I'll  come.     I  was  goin'  down  to  get  a  book  though." 

"Well,  it  isn't  far,  is  it?     I'll  come  down  with  you." 

At  seven  o'clock  they  shut  up  the  Little  Brown  Box  and 
walked  down  Fenchurch  Street  towards  Aldgate,  joining  the 
dense  throng  of  homeward-bound  toilers  who  were  tempted 
by  the  summer  feeling  in  the  air  to  avoid  the  'buses  and  wear 
out  their  shoe-leather  instead.  It  is  marvellous  how  difficult 
it  is  in  London  to  get  any  pleasure  without  paying  for  it. 
Amelia  looked  at  the  girls  who  passed  with  interest.  She  knew 
them  all  well,  knew  what  they  worked  at,  how  much  they  earned 
and  how  they  lived.  She  was  not  above  them  just  because 
she  had  a  shop.  No  thought  of  superiority  ever  entered  her 
head.  If  she  had  had  "property,"  of  course  it  would  be  dif- 
ferent. 

"  These  Sheenies !  "  she  said  laughingly  to  Hannibal  as  a  tall, 
stylishly-dressed  Jewess  passed  them  in  her  panoply  of  velvet 
and  lace.     "  What  a  rig  to  work  in !  " 

Hannibal  started  guiltily.  He  had  been  far  away  from  Aid- 
gate  just  then. 

"  Ah,"  he  said. 

"  I  shall  have  to  keep  an  eye  on  you,"  said  his  cousin  archly, 
"  or  perhaps  you'll  be  keepin'  company  down  here." 

"  Not  me,"  he  asserted  with  vivid  sincerity.  "  One's  enough 
for  me." 

"  D'you  mean  it?"  she  asked,  not  quite  certain  of  his  drift. 

He  paused  in  front  of  Mr.  Grober's  faded  shop. 

"  This  is  it,"  he  said.  "  I  shan't  be  a  minute."  And  he 
went  in  hastily.  Amelia  regarded  the  place  with  some  disdain. 
A  second-hand  bookshop  was  not  much  in  her  line.  Hannibal 
had  explained  how  he  got  his  books  for  a  penny  each,  and  she 
had  expressed  a  hope  that  there  was  no  danger  in  them.  "  You 
never  know  where  they've  been,"  she  remarked. 

Mr.  Grober  was  glad  to  have  a  visitor.  He  offered  Hannibal 
a  battered  and  ill-printed  copy  of  The  Flying  Dutchman  and 
begged  him  to  take  a  seat. 

"  I  can't.     I  got  a  little  friend  waitin'  outside,"  he  explained. 

Mr.  Grober  was  visibly  depressed.  He  had  hoped,  he  said, 
that  Hannibal  would  have  a  chat  and  possibly  some  refresh- 
ment. 


280  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

"  Not  now/'  said  the  young  man  hastily,  looking  through 
the  shelves  at  Amelia.     Mr.  Grober  looked  also. 

"  Ah,"  he  remarked.     "  A  counter-attraction,  I  see." 

"  Some  other  time,"  said  Hannibal,  moving  off.  "  Goo'  night, 
Mr.  Grober." 

"  Good  night,  and  heaven  help  you,"  said  the  old  gentle- 
man, watching  Amelia  from  behind  the  books.  He  came  to 
the  door,  and  when  she  looked  in  his  direction  bowed  in  an 
old-fashioned  way.  But  Amelia  did  not  include  Mr.  Grober 
among  her  charities.  He  was  dirty  and  untidy,  and  he  looked 
incompetent,  her  critical  glance  told  her.  She  moved  off  quickly 
with  her  cousin. 

"  You  aren't  taking  up  with  that  sort  of  people,  are  you  ?  " 
she  asked  coldly. 

"  Me?  Oh,  I  have  a  chat  now  and  then,"  said  Hannibal,  try- 
ing to  be  unconcerned. 

"  Well,  I  shouldn't  if  I  was  you.  At  least  it's  this  way :  We 
can't  afford  to  be  friends  with  such  people.  They  always  want 
something,  generally  money." 

"  He  don't  want  anything,"  remonstrated  Hannibal. 

"  I'm  only  tellin'  you.  He  looks  as  if  he  could  do  with  some, 
anyhow.     I  hate  these  untidy  people.     Let's  take  a  'bus." 

When  they  were  on  the  'bus,  she  began  again.  She  took  pos- 
session of  his  mind,  stowing  away  axiom  after  axiom,  fact  after 
fact,  until  he  was  bewildered  and  sullen.  She  felt  that  she 
must  lose  no  time  in  formally  educating  him  up  to  the  Brown 
standard. 

"If  people  aren't  gettin'  on,  they're  slippin'  back,"  she  told 
him.  "  They  can't  stand  still.  And  if  they're  slippin'  back  it's 
best  to  keep  away  —  you  can't  do  anything." 

"Why  not  give  'em  a  'and  same  as  you  did  me?"  he  asked. 

She  folded  her  hands  on  her  purse  and  looked  steadily  ahead 
towards  the  Surrey  side. 

"  Relations  are  different,"  she  observed,  and  thereby  handed 
him  another  piece  of  family  philosophy.  "  That  old  fellow 
lias  never  done  himself  any  good  and  he's  not  likely  to  do  you 
any.     Keep  yourself  to  yourself,  except  among  those  you  know." 

"  'E's  'ad  a  very  good  education,"  ventured  Hannibal. 

"  So  I  should  say  by  the  dirt  behind  his  ears,"  said  Amelia. 
"I've  seen  his  sort  in  the  Strand,  or  something  very  like  it. 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  281 

They  want  tick,  these  people  with  wonderful  educations  and  long 
hair.     Mind  you  don't  encourage  him." 

"All  right,  Amy.     What's  on  to-night?" 

"  I  was  goin'  to  tell  you,  only  so  many  things  put  it  out  o* 
my  head.  Mother's  comin'  home  from  Bournemouth  to-night 
and  we're  goin'  to  meet  her.     It's  at  eight-thirty  at  Victoria." 

"  Is  she  ?  "  said  Hannibal  dubiously. 

"  Well,  you  don't  seem  very  enthusiastic,"  complained  the 
young  lady.  "  Mother's  very  delicate,  but  she  manages  at  home 
now  the  weather's  warm.  I  suppose  you  haven't  seen  her  for 
a  long  while?  " 

"  Not  since  the  funeral,"  he  replied  briefly.  To  Hannibal 
and  his  mother  there  was  but  one  funeral,  and  they  had  used 
the  phrase  to  cover  a  number  of  things.  "  Since  the  funeral " 
meant  since  Minnie  had  left  them,  since  Maple  Avenue  had  be- 
come a  memory,  since  Bert  had  gone. 

"  Well,"  said  Amelia,  "  you'll  see  her  now."  To  the  Browns 
their  mother's  illness  was  not  a  thing  to  joke  about.  If  they 
had  been  poor  they  would  have  gone  without  the  necessaries  of 
life  to  get  her  wine  and  beef  extract.  They  were  a  brilliant 
example  of  the  family  who  owe  nothing  to  their  parent  save  their 
being,  yet  who  worship  her  and  revere  her  weakness  as  though 
she  had  sacrificed  everything  for  them. 

"What's  the  matter  with  Aunt  Eliza?"  asked  Hannibal,  in 
the  same  tone  as  he  would  ask  "  What's  the  matter  with  the 
chimney?"  if  it  smoked. 

"  Kidneys,"  said  Amelia  in  an  awed  voice.  Neurasthenia  had 
not  been  discovered  then,  and  nervous  disorders  were  located 
in  the  body  by  an  unimaginative  faculty.  "  She  had  breakdowns 
too.  Doctor  says  that  she  mustn't  exert  herself  at  all.  It's  a 
great  strain  on  her,  this  railway  journey.  Dad  went  down  this 
morning  to  bring  her  up." 

"  I  expect  she's  forgotten  all  about  me,"  Hannibal  surmised. 

"  I  told  her,  you  know,  when  I  wrote  about  the  shop  and  all 
that." 

The  conversation  dwindled,  and  Hannibal  found  himself  faced 
by  the  problem  which  had  been  growing  and  growing  in  his 
mind  for  some  time.  It  was  a  curious  problem  for  a  young  man 
of  reflective  mood  to  find  before  him,  like  a  black  cloud  which 
he  could  not  elude,  being  none  other  than  this:     "What  am  I 


282  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

doing?  "  To  such  clarity  of  vision  had  he  arrived  by  this  time, 
aided  undoubtedly  by  the  books  he  had  been  absorbing  day  by 
day.  For,  unlettered  as  he  was,  unskilled  in  the  fine  analysis 
of  motive  and  feeling,  he  saw  plainly  enough  that  the  difference 
between  himself  and  these  men  in  the  books  was  simply  they 
were  doing  something,  while  he  was  dreaming  his  life  away 
amid  cousins,  canaries,  and  cigarettes.  The  thought  grew  and 
grew  within  him,  and  his  eyes  became  less  and  less  observant 
of  the  material  world.  It  was  an  intensely  interesting  question 
for  a  young  man,  for  he  was  aware  in  a  dim  fashion  that,  if  he 
liked,  he  could  batter  down  the  walls  of  the  prison,  he  could 
struggle  out  into  the  fresh  air  and  join  those  heroic  souls  who 
do  things  in  the  world. 

He  was  unfortunate  perhaps  in  this,  that  Amelia  had  none 
of  the  fine,  careless  admiration  for  courage  which  had  been  so 
fashionable  among  young  women  a  few  years  ago,  when  the 
war-spirit  was  upon  the  nation.  It  died  away,  if  you  remember, 
afterwards,  a  wave  of  religious  and  social  uplifting  swept 
across  the  land,  knights  in  shining  armour  were  seen  no  more, 
khaki-clad  bank-clerks  went  again  into  the  black  livery  of  their 
calling,  and  the  army  lost  its  prestige  among  women.  Amelia 
was  a  very  accurate  reflection  of  her  class.  Had  she  been 
touched  with  that  lust  for  romance  which  was,  we  are  told, 
inseparable  from  mediaeval  womanhood,  she  might  have  given 
Hannibal  the  necessary  impetus  to  perform  some  deed  of  dar- 
ing. This,  however,  was  not  to  be.  Amelia  was  a  child  of 
her  time,  a  time  of  peace  and  musrc-halls,  of  social  reform  and 
municipal  enterprise.  To  her,  as  to  all  the  other  girls  of  that 
period,  courage  and  high  endeavour,  romance  and  beauty,  were 
not  to  be  found  in  life  but  on  the  stage  and  cinema-film. 
Hannibal  felt  this,  and  gave  no  sign  of  the  difficulty  that  con- 
fronted him.  She  would  have  looked  at  him  blankly  at  first, 
and  then  the  corners  of  her  mouth  would  have  come  down 
in  contempt.  To  her  a  craving  for  a  fuller  life  would  have 
meant  simply  an  excuse  to  get  out  of  working.  Her  world 
was  littered  with  people  who  dodged  or  tried  to  dodge  their 
natural  destiny  —  labour.  She  classed  Mr.  Grober  with  these. 
For,  strange  to  say,  running  a  tobacconist's  was  work,  but  a 
second-hand  bookshop  was  "  mooching  about." 

Their  entry  into  the  Brown  homestead  caused  a  diversion 
of  their  thought  from  matters  purely  personal  to  those  of  the 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  288 

family.  Ethel  it  was  who,  in  a  white  blouse  with  short  sleeves 
and  a  narrow  band  of  velvet  round  the  throat,  answered  the 
door  and  gave  them  a  wide-welcoming  smile. 

"  Good  old  Amy,  here  at  last !  "  she  said.  "  Come  along, 
Hanny,  we're  waiting  for  you.  Father'll  have  a  fit  if  we're 
late."" 

They  were  all  round  the  supper-table;  John  and  l>is  young 
lady,  Tom  and  his,  Ethel  with  a  brand-new  and  extremely 
eligible  looking  young  man  in  a  tail-coat,  who  was  in  fact  the 
laundry-manager  who  afterwards  levanted  to  Honolulu.  It  was 
obvious  that  to  them  this  home-coming  of  an  invalid  mother  was 
an  event  of  importance.  Hannibal  felt  that  if  he  could  feel  no 
interest  in  Mrs.  Brown  he  could  not  possibly  be  one  of  the  family. 
In  some  dejection  he  admitted  to  himself  that  his  interest  was  nil. 
He  regarded  Ethel's  new  young  man  with  envy.  With  all  im- 
aginable ease  the  laundry-manager  slid  into  the  stream  of  con- 
versation, picking  up  the  threads  of  past  topics  with  dexterous 
precision,  and  receiving  confidences  in  a  way  that  showed  un- 
mistakably the  Browns  were  forgetting  how  recently  he  had 
joined  their  ranks.  Hannibal  demanded  of  himself  with  some 
bitterness  why  he  could  not  do  that,  but  without  eliciting  any 
clear  reply. 

"  I  see  you're  one  of  the  thoughtful  sort,"  said  Miss  Sander- 
son, John's  refined  young  lady,  who  sat  next  to  Hannibal.  She 
smiled  indulgently  at  the  bread  her  long  fingers  were  crumbling, 
and  looked  at  him  kindly.  He  gave  a  sigh  of  relief  and  re- 
turned her  gaze  frankly. 

"  It's  only  because  I  'aven't  anything  to  say,"  he  told  her  in 
confidence.  "  Somehow  I  never  do  'ave  in  company,"  and  he 
sighed  again. 

"  Perhaps  you  think  all  the  more,"  she  insisted,  with  another 
smile. 

"  I'd'no,"  he  said.  "  I  reckon  if  a  chap  thinks,  he  can  spit 
it  out,  don't  you?     If  he  thinks  real,  I  mean." 

"  How  do  you  mean  by  real?  " 

"  Why,  when  a  chap  thinks  o'  something  and  then  does  it. 
'E's  got  something  to  talk  about  then." 

"  Why  not  do  something  then?  "  Miss  Sanderson's  eyes  were 
smiling.     She  was  enjoying  herself  with  the  young  man. 

"  How  can  I,  selling  fags?  "  he  asked  simply. 

"  What  do  you  want  to  do?  "  she  queried. 


284  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

"  That's  just  ft,"  he  told  her,  a  far-away  look  in  his  eyes. 
"  That's  just  it.     I'm  blowed  if  I  know." 

"  But  aren't  you  trying  to  get  some  idea  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  got  millions  of  ideas,  but  what's  the  use  if  you  'aven't 
got  the  dough?  " 

"  John's  got  ideas  by  the  thousand  for  patents,"  she  laughed. 
"  But  I'm  afraid  he'll  never  get  the  dough,  as  you  call  it." 

"  It's  different  with  'rm,"  Hannibal  mused  in  confidence  to 
her.  "  He's  got  'is  dad.  I  daresay  'e'll  put  up  the  tin  some  day 
if  John  wants  it.  I  feel  a  bit  out  of  all  this,"  he  added,  as  they 
rose  from  the  table,  "  though  I  don't  know  why  I  should  be 
tellin'  you." 

"  I'm  interested,"  she  said,  with  a  glance  at  once  arch  and 
sympathetic.  "  You  must  tell  me  about  some  of  those  million 
of  ideas." 

"What  are  you  two  flirting  about?"  called  Ethel,  who  was 
pinning  on  her  hat  in  front  of  a  mirror  and  could  therefore 
see  behind  her. 

"  You  be  quiet,  Eth.  Hanny  and  me  are  having  a  little  chat 
all  by  ourselves." 

"  John,  you'll  have  to  be  careful,"  said  Tom,  brushing  his 
hat.  "  These  young  tobacco  merchants,  they  know  how  to  pick 
peaches  without  treadin'  on  the  grass." 

The  laugh  that  followed  Tom's  sally  was  shared  by  Miss 
Sanderson,  but  it  did  not  prevent  her  joining  Hannibal  on  the 
pavement  when  her  own  black  straw  was  adjusted.  She  was, 
as  I  have  hinted  on  a  previous  page,  "  very  refined,"  and  she 
was  treated  by  the  Browns  as  the  daughters  of  Royal  Dukes 
are  treated  by  Society  —  with  respect.  She  was  permitted  to 
do  things  another  girl  could  not  very  well  do;  for  example, 
appropriate  Amelia's  young  man.  If  you  feel  astonishment  at 
this  in  view  of  her  family  having  had  losses,  I  can  only  point 
out,  in  commiseration  for  your  ignorance,  the  fact  that,  with 
the  Browns,  indigence  after  competence  was  a  very  different 
thing  from  indigence  per  se.  The  Browns  argued  logically 
enough  that  to  have  had  losses  it  is  first  necessary  to  have  had 
something  to  lose.  In  this  case  Miss  Sanderson's  people  had 
had  property  and  had  lost  it  in  a  perfectly  respectable  way. 
Miss  Sanderson,  then,  was  a  bright  angel  fallen  from  the  heaven 
towards  which  the  Browns  were  endeavouring  to  climb.  About 
her  there  still  hung  a  trace  of  the  brightness  of  that  sphere,  a 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  285 

faint  perfume  of  gentility.  You  saw  it  in  her  walk,  in  the  way 
she  held  her  handkerchief  to  her  nose,  or  the  distinguished 
manner  in  which  she  sat  back  in  her  chair  at  table  and  crumbled 
her  bread.  She  was,  though  you  might  not  know  it,  an  acquisition 
to  the  Browns.  She  had  M  style."  Even  Ethel  knew  that. 
Even  Ethel  knew  her  own  pert  mannerisms  would  not  have  de- 
ceived the  manager  of  a  fifth-rate  musical-comedy  troupe  —  they 
were  pure  Kenninglon,  with  an  edging  of  Knightsbridge  and 
Brompton.  As  I  say,  you  might  not  know  all  this,  but  the 
Browns  knew  it,  knew  it  so  thoroughly  that  the  paltry  em- 
broidery of  words  was  unneeded.  They  felt  :t  in  their  bones. 
Miss  Sanderson  was  superior.  When  she  elected  to  walk  with 
Hannibal  they  had  nothing  to  say.  Ladies  like  Miss  Sanderson 
don't  need  watching  like  some  people. 

That  Hannibal  felt  the  full  weight  of  his  good  fortune  may 
be  doubted.  He  did  not  at  that  time  feel  the  full  weight  of 
anything  —  until  the  weight  had  been  removed.  But  he  did 
feel  with  great  keenness  the  immense  difference  between  talking 
without  effort  to  Miss  Sanderson  and  trying  to  talk  to  Amelia 
about  the  things  in  his  mind.  Miss  Sanderson  was  interested; 
she  said  so,  and  she  made  him  feel  she  was. 

94  Of  course,  when  I  say  millions,  you  know  what  I  mean," 
he  began,  as  they  hurried  towards  the  'bus. 

"  You  want  something  better  than  the  tobacconist  business  ?  " 
she  asked.     He  looked  round  to  calculate  Amelia's  distance. 

"  Well,  you  see,  I  'ardly  like  to  say  it  to  meself,  but  some'ow 
I  do  get  full  up  with  it.  Got  no  business  to  be,  I  s'pose.  My 
old  lady  ses  I  ought  to  be  very  thankful  to  'ave  such  a  com- 
fortable job.  I  dessay  she's  right,  though  it  don't  make  me 
feel  any  different  about  it.  An'  yet  I  don't  like  to  say  any- 
things,  see?  " 

"  You  mean  seeing  it's  for  Amy  you  don't  like  ...    ?  " 

"  That's  it  to  a  T,"  he  replied. 

"  Ask  her,"  argued  Miss  Sanderson. 

"  No,"  he  whispered.     "  She  wouldn't  understand." 

Miss  Sanderson  laughed  gently. 

"  What  is  it  you  would  like?  Go  for  a  soldier?  Farming  in 
the  Colonies?     (My  brother's  in  New  Zealand.)     What  is  it?" 

"  I  don't  reckon  I'd  care  what  it  was  if  I  could  only  see 
something.  I  been  read  in*  a  good  bit  lately,  and  I  feel  all  out 
of   it.     This   shop-work's   all   right,  if  you   don't   want  to  see 


286  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

things.  But  it's  Jubilee  Street  in  the  morning  Billiter  Lane 
all  day,  and  Jubilee  Street  at  night.     It's  chronic." 

"  I  suppose  you  think  you'd  like  a  life  of  adventure." 

"  You  mean  Buffalo  Bill  an'  Sherlock  'Olmes  ?  Not  par- 
ticularly." 

"  Or  a  life  on  the  ocean  wave  ?  " 

"  Ah !  "  Hannibal  started  a  little  as  Miss  Sanderson  touched 
on  this  matter  of  the  ocean  wave.  Out  of  his  reading  and 
much  fugitive  thought  he  had  evolved  a  strange  sea-world  of 
his  own,  a  world  of  tropic  sunshine  and  white  cities,  blue  water, 
and  anchored  ships. 

"  With  a  wife  in  every  port  ? "  went  on  Miss  Sanderson, 
who  had  a  reputation  for  prettiness  in  wit.  Hannibal  looked 
at  her  in  alarm.  She  was  dangerous,  this  long-necked  young 
lady  who  had  plighted  her  troth  to  the  mechanical  John.  For 
it  was  true;  he  had  dreamed  of  fairer  women  than  he  had  ever 
seen,  the  quick  heat  of  his  adolescent  mind  had  fashioned  them 
dark  and  fair,  pale  and  bronzed.  But  so  shadowy  were  they,  so 
lightly  did  they  play  their  amorous  part  in  those  dream  ports 
of  his  mind  that  he  recoiled  from  Miss  Sanderson's  smiling  jest. 
He  coloured  and  was  silent. 

"  I   say,   Lil,"   said   John,  catching  them  up.     "  Did  you  go 

and  see "     His  voice  died  to  a  whisper,  and  Hannibal  heard 

no  more.  The  others  came  up  and  effected  a  redistribution  of 
partners.  Ethel,  voluptuous  with  her  thin  revealing  blouse  and 
well-shaped  hips,  put  her  arm  through  Hannibal's  and  steered 
him  toward  the  waiting  'bus.  She  was  humming.  It  was 
characteristic  of  Ethel  to  hum.  Presently,  when  they  had 
mounted,  she  began: 

"I  wonder  if  the  girl  I'm  thinking  of  —  is  think-ing  —  of  —  me!" 

"  Oh,  dear,  what  a  life !  I  say,  Lily,"  she  screwed  round 
and  called  to  Miss  Sanderson,  "  which  button  do  you  press  to 
make  this  figure  talk  ?  " 

"  Why,  won't  he  ?  " 

"  Not  to  me."  She  examined  Hannibal  with  humorous  criti- 
cism. "  Perhaps  he's  in  love  with  me  and  don't  like  to  show  it. 
Or  don't  you  like  fair  girls,  Hanny?  That  must  be  it,  Lily. 
He  admires  brunettes," 

"Chuck  it!"  pleaded  Hannibal. 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  287 

"  What's  the  matter,  Ducky  ?  Doesn't  this  old  'bus  roll  about ! 
It's  like  bein'  on  a  ship/'  and  she  began  to  hum. 

"  On  the  ro-o-o-o-l-ling  deep !  "  ending  up  with  an  absurdly- 
high  squeak  that  made  him  laugh  as  the  'bus  threw  her  against 
him. 

"  Mr.  Simpkins  '11  be  gettin'  on  to  me,  sittin'  'ere,"  said  Han- 
nibal, feeling  the  warmth  of  her  body.  Mr.  Simpkins,  the 
laundry-manager,  was  deep  in  conversation  with  Amelia. 

"  Is  that  your  way  of  sayin'  you  like  my  room  better'n  my 
company  ?  "  asked  Ethel,  looking  at  Hannibal  in  a  way  that 
made  him  uncomfortable.  Her  moist  red  lips  and  full  blue  eyes 
were  close  to  his  face,  her  thigh  was  pressed  against  his  own, 
and  he  could  not  help  seeing  her  bosom  as  his  eyes  dropped. 
He  put  his  arm  over  the  edge  of  the  rail  to  give  himself  a  little 
more  room. 

"  I  don't  mean  that,"  he  stammered.  "  I  only  thought  *e 
might  feel  out  in  the  cold." 

"  He  knows  you're  one  of  the  family,"  she  returned.  M  How's 
the  Little  Brown  Box?     Is  Amy  behaving  herself?" 

"  Oh,  yes,"  he  laughed.     "  We  manage  somehow." 

"No  lovers'  tiffs?" 

He  shook  his  head. 

"How's  Auntie?" 

"  Pretty  fair." 

She  gave  it  up  at  last.  Her  quick  ears  caught  the  drift  of 
John's  conversation  with  Miss  Sanderson  on  the  seat  behind, 
and  turning  half-round  she  joined  in.  Hannibal  looked  at  her 
blouse  which  was,  like  most  young  women's  blouses,  partly  open 
at  the  back.  He  took  the  edges  and  slipped  the  buttons  into 
place  with  one  of  his  gentle  caressing  motions  that  all  uncon- 
sciously reached  feminine  hearts.     She  turned  to  him. 

"  Hanny,"  she  said,  "  you're  a  stick,  and  I'm  goin'  to  make 
you  talk.  You  told  a  fib  when  you  said  you  and  Amy  hadn't 
tiffed.     She  told  me  all  about  it." 

"About  what?" 

"  You  know.  She  feels  it,  Hanny.  When  a  girl  gets  engaged 
she  likes  to  be  cuddled  and  made  a  fuss  of.  You  treat  her  as  if 
she  was  in  a  glass  case." 

"  Fancy  'er  tellin'  you  that !  " 

"She  didn't!  I  didn't  say  she  did.  How  dare  you  twist 
my  words  ?     She  only  told  me  how  you  said,  '  Yes,  Amy,'  and 


288  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

'  No,  Amy/  and/'  here  Ethel  laughed,  "  shook  hands  when  you 
said  good-bj'e." 

"It  is  funny,  when  you  come  to  think  of  it/'  he  remarked 
coldly. 

"  Well  I  never ! "  Ethel  regarded  her  cousin  with  some  cu- 
riosity. "  It  isn't  off,  is  it?  "  she  whispered,  feverish  to  get  the 
first  news. 

"  It  will  be  if  people  can't  mind  their  own  business,"  he 
replied.  Ethel's  hand  strayed  to  his  knee.  It  was  a  hand  too 
plump  to  be  pretty,  with  well-kept  nails  and  looped  with  silver 
bangles.     A  white  openwork  mitten  reached  to  her  elbow. 

"  Hanny,"  she  said,  "don't  show  it  before  mother,  will  you? 
She  can't  bear  any  excitement." 

"  I  ain't  excited,  Eth ;  you  needn't  worry  about  me.  I  wish 
you  wouldn't  do  that,"  he  added,  as  she  pressed  closer  to  him. 

"  Why,  what  am  I  doing?  " 

"  Squeezin'  ?  " 

"  You  are  a  funny  boy,  Hanny." 

"  I  know  I  am,  everybody  laughs  as  I  go  down  the  street. 
I'm  a  walkin'  Comic  Cuts,  I  am,"  he  agreed  acidly.  "  It's  the 
way  I'm  made,  I  s'pose!     Family  weakness." 

If  Miss  Sanderson,  with  her  delicate  psychic  apparatus,  had 
alarmed  Hannibal,  it  was  he  himself  who  was  now  causing 
some  perturbation  in  Ethel's  plump  bosom.  This  was  a  new 
Cousin  Hannibal  indeed.  She  felt  a  little  afraid  of  him,  a 
little  suspicion  that  there  might  be  something  in  him  neither 
in  accord  with  the  Brown  philosophy  nor  actually  bad,  some- 
thing different.  Evidently  he  had  a  temper,  quite  cutting. 
Poor  Amy!  They  had  to  get  off  the  'bus  as  Ethel  arrived  at 
this  conclusion,  and  Hannibal  was  not  surprised  to  see  her  push 
through  to  her  sister  who  was  descending  the  steps.  Bumping 
against  Tom,  who  was  holding  his  young  lady  in  a  firm  grip, 
Hannibal  was  glad  to  exchange  humorous  comments  concerning 
the  facility  in  what  Tom  called  "'  chin-chewing."  Tom  and  his 
young  lady  did  not  indulge  in  the  gay  amorousness  of  the  younger 
members  of  the  family.  They  courted  strictly  according  to 
regulation,  they  kissed  each  other  on  the  cheek  at  greeting  and 
partings,  but  Miss  Bax  felt  that  her  position  as  senior  assistant 
in  the  actuarial  department  of  Messrs.  Krehbiel  Ganz  &  Co., 
London  Wall,  precluded  any  frivolity  in  her  attitude  towards 
love.     She  realised  that  in  a  little  time  she  would,  as  Tom's 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  289 

wife,  assume  the  virtual  headship  of  the  Brown  community.  It 
would  not  do  to  place  herself  exactly  on  the  same  level  as  Ethel, 
Amelia,  or  even  Miss  Sanderson.  Miss  Sanderson  and  she  had 
measured  swords  alreadjr;  it  required  all  the  prestige  of  Krehbiel 
Ganz  &  Co.  (capital  seventeen  million  dollars)  to  balance  Miss 
Sanderson's  position  and  refinement  as  the  only  daughter  of  a 
gentleman  who  had  had  losses.  They  were  too  conscious  of  the 
good  opinion  of  the  Browns  to  show  any  hostility,  but  one  could 
imagine  them  later,  each  in  her  holy-of-holies,  dissecting  each 
other  before  sympathetic  allies,  and  lamenting  the  shortcomings 
of  human  nature.  Tom's  deference  to  the  opinion  of  Miss 
Bax  showed  him  to  have  the  makings  of  an  admirable  husband, 
fitted  to  carry  the  business  forward  to  heights  undreamed  of 
by  Mr.  Brown  in  his  dangling  days.  Indeed,  the  secret  of  their 
continued  prosperity  lay  in  Tom  and  Miss  Bax,  who  were  at 
this  moment  descending  the  steps  of  the  'bus.  Hannibal  looked 
down  upon  them  as  curiously  as  though  they  were  beings  of  a 
different  species.  Joke  as  Tom  might,  and  he  was  not  a  gloomy 
young  man,  he  made  you  feel  the  responsibility  that  lay  upon 
him.  His  dark,  simply-cut  clothes,  his  leather  watch-guard,  his 
plain  tie  and  slightly  old-fashioned  collar,  his  square-toed  boots 
with  elastic  sides,  the  bowler  hat  which  covered  his  head  winter 
and  summer  —  all  these  little  points  were  points  of  difference 
wliich  set  him  subtly  apart  form  the  men  of  straw.  Joke  as  he 
might,  Tom  evidently  regarded  this  pilgrimage  to  Waterloo  to 
meet  his  mother  as  a  sort  of  ritual.  Mrs.  Brown  was  the  Queen 
Bee  of  the  hive.  She  had  done  nothing  but  give  them  birth, 
which  was  sufficient.  You  felt  as  you  watched  him  and  Miss 
Bax  arm-in-arm,  he  on  the  outer  side,  that  this  was  for  them  a 
solemn  moment.  The  authors  of  their  being  —  for  Miss  Bax 
already  considered  them  her  parents  —  were  even  now  enduring 
that  almost  interminable  purgatory,  the  wait  at  Vauxhall;  they 
had  yielded  up  their  tickets,  were  removing  the  luggage  from 
the  racks,  collecting  magazines  and  rugs,  looking  out  upon  the 
illimitable  roofland  of  South  London.  Hannibal,  following  the 
Browns  up  the  incline  that  leads  to  the  platform,  was  conscious 
of  their  feeling  in  the  matter.  Unknowingly  he  was  up  against 
the  very  foundation  of  our  national  life.  It  was  the  lack  of  this 
solidarity,  this  community  of  interest,  which  had  caused  the 
Gooderich  family  to  fall  apart  like  dry  sand.  It  was  Hannibal's 
privilege  now  to  behold  an  apotheosis  of  the  Brown  religion  as 


290  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

the  train  came  slowly  to  rest,  and  Mr.  Brown's  head  covered 
by  a  soft  grey  felt  hat,  protruded  from  the  window  of  a  second- 
class  carriage.  Simultaneously  the  party  moved  towards  the 
compartment,  pushing  past  strangers  and  porters,  splitting  round 
a  barrow  and  reuniting  in  an  intense  little  group.  An  incoherent 
murmur  of  welcome  rose  from  them.  Hannibal  saw  Tom,  bare- 
headed, tugging  at  the  door,  handing  out  luggage  and  passing 
it  on  to  the  others.  Hannibal  found  himself  holding  a  port- 
manteau. Then  Mr.  Brown,  broad  breasted  and  summery  in 
thin  grey  serge,  bent  his  head  and  descended  amid  handshakes 
and  kissing.  So  far  the  Queen  Bee  had  not  been  visible.  Mr. 
Brown,  looking  round,  spoke  to  Tom  in  grave  tones  and  re-entered 
the  compartment.  Shawls  emerged  one  by  one,  John  was  de- 
tached to  call  a  four-wheeler  to  the  kerb,  porters,  like  vultures 
when  the  traveller  staggers,  began  to  hover  on  the  outskirts,  and 
then  Hannibal  caught  sight  of  a  large  woman  slowly  emerging 
from  the  dimly-lit  train.  With  much  assistance  she  came  to  rest 
on  the  platform,  and  after  a  pause  for  welcomes  and  filial  kiss- 
ing, moved  across  to  the  cab.  All  were  in. strict  order  of  prec- 
edence. Mr.  Brown  and  Tom  guided  the  lady's  slow  footsteps, 
Amelia  and  Ethel  carried  inlimate  things  like  shawls,  rugs,  and 
chatelaine,  John  of  course  stood  holding  the  door  of  the  cab, 
Mr.  Simpkins  and  Miss  Bax  came  next  with  pillows  and  dress- 
ing-case. Miss  Sanderson,  who  seemed  to  have  adroitly  avoided 
becoming  a  beast  of  burden,  held  her  own  skirt  and  looked  in- 
terested, while  Hannibal  peeped  over  her  shoulder. 

It  was  very  impressive.  I  have  seen  a  foreign  monarch  ar- 
rive at  a  London  railway  station  with  less  impressiveness  than 
did  Mrs.  Brown.  Even  the  driver  of  the  four-wheeler  twisted 
round  on  his  box  and  looked  on  with  respectful  interest.  There 
was  a  pause  as  Mr.  Brown  took  his  seat  beside  his  wife;  the 
group  on  tip-toe  stood  as  if  expectant  of  a  miracle.  Mrs.  Brown 
raised  her  hand  and  waved  it  gently.  Tom,  still  bare-headed, 
closed  the  door  with  reverence.  Suddenly  Mr.  Brown  gave  a 
hasty  glance  round,  looked  at  Tom  with  the  look  of  rigid  horror 
assumed  by  Englishmen  when  they  have  lost  personal  property, 
and  breathed  the  word  "  portmanteau."  The  news  was  spread 
like  fire  in  stubble  through  the  group.  Where  was  the  port- 
manteau? Hannibal  was  surrounded,  relieved  of  the  burden, 
patted  on  the  back  as  though  he  had  done  a  noble  deed,  and 
the  bag  was  hoisted  to  the  roof.     Mr.  Brown  was  heard  to  re- 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  291 

mark  in  reply  to  Tom's  earnest  enquiry,  that  the  boxes  were 
coming  on  to-morrow  in  advance.  Tiie  word  "  advance  "  is  used 
by  railways  in  England  much  as  "  express  "  is  used  by  parcels 
companies  in  America  —  facetiously.  At  length  the  cab  moved 
off  and  the  Brown  group  gazed  at  the  back  of  it  until  it  was 
lost  to  sight.  The  next  thing  to  do  was  to  get  home  as  quickly 
as  possible.  Much  discussion  between  Tom  and  his  sister  pro- 
duced a  definite  policy.  It  would  not  do  to  be  late,  therefore 
Amelia  must  take  a  cab.  She  could  not  travel  without  an  escort 
even  in  a  cab,  so  Tom  was  elected  to  go  with  her.  But  Tom 
could  not  desert  Miss  Bax.  What  then  was  to  be  done?  Ethel 
turned  round  and  sought  Hannibal. 

"  Let  Hanny  go  with  you,  Amy,"  she  said.  Tom  had  no 
objection.  He  could  travel  in  a  cab  whenever  he  liked,  but 
the  pleasure  of  abstaining  from  luxuries,  while  knowing  he  could 
have  them  if  he  wished,  far  outweighed  the  childish  joy  of 
spending  money.  He  was  quite  willing  to  let  the  young  fellow 
go.  Almost  before  he  knew  it,  Hannibal  was  inside  a  second 
four-wheeler  which  had  drawn  up  at  the  kerb.  Amelia  was 
seated  next  him.  Ethel's  generosity  in  this  matter  is  explained 
by  the  fact  that  Mr.  Simpkins,  the  laundry  manager,  had  already 
pledged  himself  secretly  to  a  hansom.  John's  plans  were  not 
known.  John's  plans  could  not  reasonably  expect  a  great  deal 
of  attention  since  he  was  only  an  apprentice  as  yet.  In  fact, 
had  John  not  been  one  of  them,  the  Browns  would  have  been 
mildly  curious  to  know  how  he  had  come  to  fall  in  love  with 
Miss  Sanderson.  Even  after  marriage,  when  John  got  a  gaffer's 
job,  the  exact  relations  of  the  pair  were  not  ascertained  by  the 
family.  On  one  occasion,  when  his  lady  had  signified  with  tiger- 
ish emphasis  the  importance  of  recognising  her  as  boss  in  her 
own  house,  John  had  surprised  the  family  by  endorsing  her  claim. 
But  when  the  squall  blew  over  and  the  blue  sky  of  connexional 
harmony  smiled  upon  them  they  found  themselves  as  vague  as 
ever  as  to  John's  standing  with  her  his  wife.  And  so,  in  the 
excitement  of  four-wheelers  and  hansoms,  pervaded  as  it  was 
with  Tom's  growl  and  Ethel's  high-pitched  chatter,  John  and 
Miss  Sanderson  faded  away,  to  appear  at  supper  (taken  on  the 
knee  in  the  drawing-room)  mysteriously  happy. 

"  She  looks  wonderfully  improved,"  said  Amy,  as  the  cab 
wrenched  round  the  corner  into  the  street.  "  Bournemouth 
always  did  suit  her."     She  did  not  seek  for  any  answer  to  this. 


292  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

She  was  wrapt  in  a  dream,  an  ecstasy  of  pleasure  at  seeing  her 
beloved  parent  again.  You  might  have  imagined  that  Amelia, 
being  the  elder  daughter,  would  have  felt  reluctant  to  take  the 
second  place  again  in  the  house.  But  she  knew  that  her  mother 
would  be  an  invalid  still.  It  had  become  a  habit  almost  im- 
possible to  break  for  Mrs.  Brown  to  have  things  done  for  her. 
She  would  sit  among  cushions  with  a  rug  over  her  knees  and 
receive  her  lady-friends  in  state,  and  those  lady-friends  would 
be  under  Amelia's  thumb.  They  would  have  to  accept  tea  and 
pastry  from  her  table.  They  would  have  to  admit  her  to  their 
confidence  or  they  would  not  come  again.  Miss  Bax  might  be 
Tom's  sweetheart,  but  until  she  was  Tom's  wife,  Amelia  was 
in  charge.  She  sat  there  in  the  cab  in  a  fit  of  glad  abstraction 
planning  out  the  summer.  Hannibal  looked  at  her  furtively  in 
the  darkness  and  saw  that  he  was  forgotten.  A  sudden  percep- 
tion came  to  him,  that  in  all  probability  he  would  be  forgotten 
in  the  future.  He  could  not  for  the  life  of  him  enter  into  that 
unity  of  thought  which  distinguished  the  Browns  and  their  satel- 
lites, and  it  followed  that  sooner  or  later  he  would  be  forgotten. 
In  his  mind  this  momentary  lapse  of  Amelia's  thoughts  became 
typical  of  her  world.  Very  likely  Ethel  was  right.  They 
thought  him  dull  and  uninteresting.  Very  likely,  too,  Miss 
Sanderson  would  have  got  tired  of  him  after  a  while.  Now  that 
he  came  to  think  of  it,  he  had  used  his  opportunity  to  talk  to 
Miss  Sanderson  very  poorly.  It  was  always  the  way.  He  was 
dazzled  by  close  contact  with  women  and  did  not  know  what 
to  say. 

He  felt  depressed  and  disheartened. 

"What  did  you  tell  Ethel  about  us  for?"  he  asked,  looking 
solemnly  out  of  the  window.  One  of  the  priceless  advantages 
of  possessing  a  small  mind  is  the  power  to  train  it  upon  any 
problem  in  a  flash.     So  with  Amelia. 

"  She's  my  sister,  I  suppose  ?  "  she  enquired. 

"  Givin'  me  a  fine  name." 

"What  name?" 

"  Stick." 

"  Well !  "  Amelia  laughed  suddenly.  "  She  wasn't  so  far  off, 
was  she?  You  know,  Hanny,  your  mind  isn't  on  your  job. 
You'll  never  get  on  if  you  go  round  fly-catchin'." 

"Think  not?" 

"  Positive.     That's  all  Eth  meant  by  '  stick/     I  wouldn't  let 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  293 

her  call  you  names  as  a  general  thing,  and  she  wouldn't  want 
to.     But  she  can't  help  noticin'." 

"  You  ought  to  'ave  left  me  in  the  Repositories/'  he  remarked. 
"  I  feel  all  out  of  it  'ere,  ridin'  in  cabs." 

"  And  give  up  the  shop  ?  "  she  cried. 

"You  can  get  somebody  else  for  that  job." 

"  Oh,  don't  be  so  silly !  I  s'pose  you're  grousing  because  I 
didn't  like  you  leavin'  the  shop.  I  might  have  said  a  good  deal 
more'n  I  did  this  morning." 

'*  I  noticed  that.     Why  didn't  you  ?  " 

Amelia  turned  and  looked  at  him,  astounded  at  his  perspicacity. 

"  I  thought  we  had  an  understanding,"  she  faltered. 

"  I  'ad  idea  that  way  too,"  he  admitted. 

"  Then  why  do  you  ask  me  why  didn't  I  fly  out  at  you  when 
I  noticed  it?  Do  you  think  I  wanted  to  have  a  row?  If  I'd 
known  you  knew,  I  would  have."  And  she  flung  herself  away 
from  him. 

"  'Ere's  the  'ouse,"  said  Hannibal  as  the  cab  drew  up.  He 
got  out,  put  his  hand  in  his  pocket  and  found  a  florin.  He  gave 
it  to  the  driver  and  turned  to  his  cousin. 

"  I'll  see  Aunt  Lizzie  another  time,"  he  said  briefly.  "  I've 
'ad  just  about  all  I  can  stand  for  to-night." 

And  turning  away,  lie  went  off  down  the  street  without  giving 
her  an  opportunity  to  reply. 


IX 

ON  Waterloo  Bridge  he  paused,  and  leaning  over  one 
of  the  embrasures  studied  the  amazing  scene  spread 
before  his  eyes.  On  either  hand  the  embankment  was 
picked  out  in  a  curve  of  lights,  the  great  hotels  loomed 
up  on  the  right  bank,  and  away  westward  the  clock  of  West- 
minster glowed  like  a  yellow  moon.  Below,  the  dark  water 
reflected  the  illumination  of  the  shores ;  here  and  there  a  deep  red 
or  green  light  marked  a  moving  craft.  From  the  Strand  came 
a  dull  roar  of  traffic;  police  whistles  called  shrilly  for  cabs; 
behind  him  the  omnibuses  rumbled  and  carts  rattled.  Far  away 
on  Westminster  Bridge  lights  of  swift  hansoms  sped  across  con- 
tinually. The  night  was  clear  and  warm.  There  was  no  despair 
in  his  heart;  rather  was  there  the  exultation  of  revolt.  He  had 
by  some  strange  effort,  some  reaction  quite  alien  to  his  ordinary 
apathetic  attitude  towards  life,  broken  from  the  Brown  influence. 
That  influence  would  claim  him  again  in  the  morning.  He  had 
no  confidence  in  himself  if  Amelia  appeared  next  day  in  a  melt- 
ing mood.  How  did  he  get  the  courage  to  state  the  facts  so 
bluntly?  He  did  not  know.  It  seemed  almost  as  if  he  had 
heard  some  one  else  saying  it.  To  tell  the  Browns  that  he  had 
all  he  could  stand  of  them  —  my  word !  Amelia  would  think  him 
off  his  chump.  She  had  said  he  went  round  catching  flies,  had 
she?  Well,  he  had  given  her  something  to  think  over  now.  He 
was  not  going  to  be  absorbed  into  the  Brown  system  so  easily 
after  all,  he  was  not  quite  devoid  of  individuality.  Miss  Sander- 
son had  realised  there  was  something  in  him.  And  Ethel,  too, 
had  had  a  shock.  As  he  looked  out  across  the  dark  water,  the 
young  man's  eyes  hardened  a  little.  He  would  not  give  in. 
Again  there  came  to  him  the  consciousness  of  his  power  to  break 
away.  What  did  he  want  to  do?  He  did  not  know  nor  care. 
He  would  find  his  way'  to  the  world  he  had  dreamed  of,  never 
fear.  Under  the  stress  of  his  thoughts  he  moved  a  little,  and 
became  aware  of  a  shadow.     He  looked  up  quickly  to  see  the 

294 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  295 

huge  bulk  of  a  policeman  standing  over  him.  He  started  back 
with  an  exclamation,  instinctively  avoiding  the  law. 

"  You'd  better  get  along,"  suggested  the  law.  "  I  thought  at 
first  you  were  goin'  to  do  yourself  in." 

Hannibal  laughed  and  stood  back  a  little  further  from  the 
parapet.  "  Not  me !  "  he  answered,  taking  out  a  pipe  to  show 
his  easiness  under  scrutiny.  "  I  was  only  'avin'  a  look  roun'.  I 
don't  come  this  way  often.  What's  that  street  up  there  ?  "  He 
pointed  towards  Covent  Garden. 

"Strand,"  said  the  law.     "Where  do  you  want  to  go?" 

"  'Ome,  Mile  End  Road/' 

The  policeman,  who  was  only  waiting  for  ten  o'clock  to  go 
eastward  himself,  nodded. 

"  Up  there,  and  round  the  right.     Tuppence  on  the  'bus." 

"  Thank  you.     Good  night." 

The  brief  conversation  restored  the  young  man's  balance  and 
solidified  his  belief  in  himself.  The  recoil  from  the  Browns' 
influence  led  him  to  contemplate  confiding  in  his  mother.  Now 
this  casual  contact  with  the  world  left  him  standing  on  his  feet 
again.  He  strode  on  towards  the  Strand,  and  seeing  an  East-end 
omnibus  waiting  across  the  road,  ran  over  and  sprang  upon 
it.  The  noise,  the  lights,  the  movement  of  the  great  teeming 
street  exhilarated  him.  He  felt  outrageously  glad  that  he  had 
affronted  Amelia  so  brazenly.  He  cast  about  him  for  something 
that  would  embody  his  revolt.  If  he  went  home  that  would  be 
a  tame  ending  —  he  would  have  gone  home  anyway.  Ah,  he 
had  it!  He  would  have  a  drink,  for  a  start.  He  felt  in  his 
pocket  and  found  a  shilling  and  some  smaller  coins,  about  one- 
and-ninepence.     He  regretted  that  florin  now. 

He  descended  at  Aldgate  and  entered  a  bar.  To  push  in  and 
out  of  a  pub  is  part  of  East-end  education.  Even  people  who 
are  strict  abstainers  in  that  part  of  the  world  have  a  certain 
familiarity  with  licenced  premises.  These  gin-palaces,  as  Mrs. 
Gaynor  was  accustomed  to  describe  them,  are  the  clubs  of  the 
poor.  It  is  necessary  to  remember  this  when  reflecting  upon 
Hannibal's  behaviour.  To  him  and  to  the  majority  of  East 
Londoners,  entering  a  public-house  signified  nothing.  Even 
to  Amelia  it  signified  nothing  in  itself.  In  the  old  days  when 
Mr.  Brown  was  in  a  comically  small  way  of  business,  when 
Hannibal's  father  was  buried,  for  instance,  it  was  a  right  and 
proper  thing  to  go  into  bars.     Now  they  had  reached  a  higher 


296  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

plane  where  they  were  limited  to  hostelries  like  the  "  Bull  and 
Bush  "  and  the  "  King's  Head  "  at  Roehampton.  And  it  might 
as  well  be  explained  here  while  Hannibal  was  entering  that  bar, 
that  Amelia  would  have  had  some  trouble  to  explain  in  stark 
language  why  she  cherished  such  an  objection  to  the  faint  odour 
of  liquor  which  lingered  round  her  cousin  when  he  returned  to 
the  shop.  It  could  not  be  any  prejudice  against  drink.  The 
Browns  were  all  too  much  alive,  too  interested,  too  intelligent 
to  have  any  craven  fear  of  it.  Possibly  it  was  because,  taking 
Hannibal  at  his  own  valuation,  she  did  not  consider  him  one  of 
the  family,  and  so  came  unconsciously  to  the  conclusion  that 
drink  was  a  possible  vice  with  him.  Perhaps  the  rumours  cur- 
rent when  her  uncle  died,  that  he  had  had  a  drop  too  much, 
weighed  with  her.  Perhaps  it  was  merely  a  feminine  desire  to 
find  fault  with  a  young  man  who  offered  a  too  easy  mark. 
Whatever  her  ultimate  motive,  it  would  have  been  formidably 
strengthened  had  she  seen  him  now  breasting  the  mahogany  bar 
asking  for  a  bitter  and  selecting  a  match  from  the  sheaf  that 
stood  near  his  elbow. 

The  bar  was  a  saloon,  semicircular,  with  seats  in  the  corners 
of  the  room.  As  he  turned  to  glance  round  after  a  sip,  Han- 
nibal was  surprised  to  see  his  friend  Mr.  Grober  in  a  chair 
by  a  small  table,  enjoying  his  black  briar  and  a  tankard  of  ale. 
The  young  man  nodded,  and  Mr.  Grober,  regarding  him  with 
attention,  withdrew  from  his  reverie  far  enough  to  respond. 
Hannibal  felt  a  singular  excitement  on  beholding  the  old  man 
thus  occupied.     He  took  up  his  glass  and  went  over  to  him. 

"  Good  evenin',"  he  said.     "  I'd  no  idea  you  were  in  'ere." 

"  The  surprise  is  mutual,"  responded  Mr.  Grober.  "  I  thought 
you  were  engaged  for  the  evening." 

"  Oh,  we  went  to  see  'er  parents  come  back  from  the  sea- 
side," explained  Hannibal.     "  I  got  sick  of  it  and  cleared  out." 

Mr.  Grober  looked  at  his  young  friend  with  some  curiosity. 

"  You  are  fortunate,"  he  said  simply. 

*"Ow  d'you  mean?"  asked  Hannibal,  drinking. 

"  To  be  able  to  clear  out,  as  you  express  it,  whenever  the 
mood  takes  you.     It  will  not  be  always  so,  believe  me." 

"  Oh,  I'm  not  goin'  to  be  bossed,"  said  Hannibal. 

Mr.  Grober 's  face  expressed  pity. 

"  And  how  do  you  propose  to  avoid  it  ?  "  he  asked.  "  When 
the  greatest  men  are  ruled  by  women,  while  they  have  it  in 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  297 

their  power  to  make  our  lives  either  a  hades  or  an  elysium,  how, 
I  ask,  do  you  propose  to  escape  the  universal  fate  ?  " 

"  Oh,  it  ain't  as  bad  as  that,  Mister,"  Hannibal  protested. 

"  You  are  young  and  time  will  show,"  said  Mr.  Grober. 
"  You  imagine  that  your  young  lady  is  merely  a  female.  A 
woman  is  only  a  manifestation  of  her  sex.  Except  in  rare  cases 
she  has  no  essential  nature  of  her  own.  Men  speak  of  having 
been  under  the  influence  of  various  women.  Never  was  there 
such  a  puerile  misconception.  They  are  all  one  woman.  He 
escapes  from  one  only  to  succumb  to  the  enchantments  of  an- 
other. He  may  fly  from  England  to  China,  from  China  to  Peru, 
but  it  is  all  in  vain.  Ultimately  she  gets  him,  and  deals  out  to 
him  the  destiny  ordained  from  the  beginning.  Happy  the  man 
who  can  snatch  some  happiness  in  the  intervals  of  the  pursuit, 
and  steel  his  heart  with  philosophy  against  the  unforeseen 
tragedies  of  his  life.  You  will  read,"  continued  Mr.  Grober, 
"  you  will  read  in  that  book  in  your  pocket  the  story  of  a 
fruitless  attempt  to  evade  the  eternal  question  of  sex.  That  is 
what  I  mean  by  all  women  being  one  and  the  same.  Woman 
has  been  told  so  often  that  she  is  an  angel,  that  she  has  grown 
to  believe  it.  The  most  cursory  examination  of  a  few  examples 
of  women  is  sufficient  to  disprove  this  monstrous  fallacy." 

"  I  s'pose  you're  a  woman-'ater,  Mr.  Grober,"  said  Hannibal, 
looking  judicially  into  his  pipe. 

"  By  no  means.  I  am  merely  giving  you,  a  young  and  In- 
experienced man,  the  benefit  of  close  observation.  I  am  what 
the  world  calls  a  failure,  which  means  I  have  the  right  to  criti- 
cise the  world.  Disraeli  said  of  critics  that  they  were  those 
who  had  failed  in  literature  and  art.  I  may  transpose  Disraeli's 
dictum  and  say  that  failures  are  those  who  exchange  success  in 
art  or  in  life  for  the  right  to  criticise.  A  little  thought  will 
show  that  only  the  failure  can  pass  unbiased  judgment  upon  the 
world.  The  majority  of  people  imagine  that  because  a  man  has 
failed  in  this  particular  world,  he's  failed  absolutely.  By  no 
means.  Many  a  man  who  sinks  down  and  dies  and  is  forgotten 
might,  by  one  infinitesimal  turn  of  fortune's  wheel,  have  landed 
beside  Caesar  and  Napoleon.  Still  more  men  who  struggle  furi- 
ously with  poverty  might,  by  a  chance  movement  of  the  hand,  a 
furtive  roll  of  the  eye,  light  upon  some  hidden  spring  which 
when  touched,  would  transfer  them  to  an  Aladdin's  Palace. 
Chance,  chance,  chance!     Take  myself;  at  any  moment  I  may 


298  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

turn  over  an  old  folio  and  discover  some  document  which  will 
draw  upon  me  the  attention  of  every  learned  society  in  Europe. 
So  far  a  ten  thousand  to  one  chance  had  been  against  me." 

"  You  aren't  countin'  on  it,  I  suppose  ? "  asked  Hannibal, 
whose  mind  was  puzzled  yet  attracted  by  the  old  gentleman's 
fluent  monologue. 

"  I  count  on  nothing.  I  am  a  fatalist,  by  which  I  mean  that 
I  disbelieve  in  the  future.  It  does  not  exist.  To  an  age  de- 
bauched by  erroneous  systems  of  logic  it  may  sound  strange,  but 
the  future  does  not  exist." 

"  I  am  afraid  that's  a  bit  too  deep  for  me,"  said  the  young 
man.  "  Take  me.  Can't  make  up  my  mind  what  I'm  going  to 
do  to-morrow." 

The  question  recalled  Mr.  Grober  to  the  immediate  present. 

u  Well,"  he  said,  finishing  his  beer,  "  I  should  imagine  that 
you  can  answer  that  question  better  than  I." 

The  young  man  lifted  his  glass,  glanced  with  a  roving  eye 
round  the  glittering  bar,  drank  off  the  liquor  and  set  down  the 
empty  glass. 

"  That's  right,"  he  said.     "  I  can.     I  'ave,"  he  added. 

Mr.  Grober  looked  at  the  clock  over  his  head  and  rose. 

"  I  must  go,"  he  said  hurriedly.  "  I  had  no  idea  of  the  time. 
Come  over  to  the  shop." 

They  went  out  together  through  the  swing  doors. 

"  You  speak  as  if  you  had  made  up  your  mind  to  do  some- 
thing extremely  important,"  Mr.  Grober  began  when  they  had 
crossed  the  road.  "  Now  I  am  ready  to  admit  that  there  is  one 
incalculable  element  in  human  life,  and  that  is  Youth.  It  is 
unique.  If  it  were  not  for  Youth  there  would  be  neither  joy 
nor  sorrow  in  the  world.  If  it  were  not  for  Youth  —  come  in, 
come  in, —  if  it  were  not " 

Mr.  Grober's  stream  of  eloquence  was  cut  off  short  as  he 
entered  the  shop  and  beheld  his  wife  standing  by  the  inner 
door.  Hannibal  felt  acutely  uneasy  as  he  noted  the  light  of 
battle  in  the  lady's  eye.  He  withdrew  to  the  book-encumbered 
entry.  Mr.  Grober's  entire  personality  seemed  to  shrivel  be- 
neath his  wife's  viperish  regard.  His  hands  faltered  and  made 
deprecating  motions  in  the  air,  he  slithered  sideways  to  his  chair 
and  sank  into  it  as  though  beaten  down  by  the  torrent  of  her 
vituperation.  There  was  neither  skill  nor  meaning  in  her  words, 
but  a  mere  unimaginative  repetition  of  foul  phrases.     Hannibal 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  299 

was  appalled,  and  drew  further  out  towards  the  street,  pretend- 
ing to  examine  the  volumes  on  the  shelves.  Not  one  word  of 
retort  did  the  old  man  offer  to  stem  the  rushing  flow  of  profane 
upbraiding.  He  sat  wilted  and  diminished,  his  arm  dangling  over 
the  back  of  the  chair,  the  black  briar  between  his  fingers.  Only 
once,  when  she  hurled  the  opprobrium  "  Lousy  old  soaker  "  at 
him,  did  he  move  as  though  to  reply.  She  was  not  an  old 
woman;  had  she  been  lapped  in  luxury  she  might  have  been 
pretty,  and  at  most  she  was  forty.  But  the  evil  rage  in  her 
heart,  the  gnawing  penury  of  body  and  spirit  had  distorted  and 
maligned  her  features  so  that  now  as  she  svood  swaying  in  her 
passion,  she  might  have  been  one  of  the  Furies  pursuing  her 
husband  with  implacable  hatred. 

"What  d'you  want?"  she  turned  hoarsely  to  Hannibal. 
"  Standin'  there  listenin'  ?  You're  like  all  the  rest  o'  them, 
lookin'  and  lookin'  and  puttin'  'em  back,  an  never  buyin'."  She 
paused,  exhausted,  put  her  right  hand  to  her  throat  and  coughed 
weakly,  making  motions  with  her  left  for  him  to  be  gone.  Han- 
nibal stepped  out  into  the  street  and  paused  irresolutely.  Then 
he  walked  back  into  the  shop. 

"  Why,  what  'ave  I  done,  missis?"  he  asked  boldly. 

She  waved  him  away  without  turning  to  him. 

"  Sling  yer  'ook,"  she  croaked,  for  her  voice  was  gone.  "  Sling 
it." 

"  Shan't,"  said  Hannibal,  and  the  old  man  looked  up  at  him, 
mumbling,  "Youth!  Youth!"  to  himself.  "Mr.  Grober  'ere 
ain't  said  any  thin'  about  chasin'  me  out,  'as  'e?  " 

The  storm  was  over;  Mrs.  Grober  repassed  the  inner  door 
and  vanished.  Slowly  the  drooping  head  of  the  old  bookseller 
revived. 

"  I  regret,  my  young  friend,"  he  said,  "  that  you  should 
have  witnessed  such  a  scene.  For  the  young  it  is  undoubtedly, 
an  unfortunate  spectacle.  Mrs.  Grober  is  subject  to  occasional 
fits  of  depression.  Possibly  the  profits  accruing  from  the  sale 
of  second-hand  literature  might  be  larger.  I  may  be  mistaken, 
but  I  have  never  heard  of  any  one  making  a*  million  out  of  it. 
And  that  is  a  curious  feature  of  the  profession.  We  have  it  on 
the  word  of  Monsieur  Heineffethermatt  that  there  are  over  a 
thousand  million  printed  volumes."  Mr.  Grober  was  off  again, 
his  hands  waving,  his  dull  blue  eye  fixed  on  Hannibal's  face. 
"  Let  us  take  a  conservative  estimate,  ten  per  cent  for  second- 


300  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

hand  matter.  That  gives  us  one  hundred  millions.  One  per 
cent  of  that,  say,  for  England,  which  leaves  at  the  disposal  of 
a  hypothetical  dealer  one  million  volumes.  Surely,  by  means  of 
business  acumen  and  judicious  handling  of  capital  it  would  be 
possible  to  control  the  sale  of  those  million  books.  You  need, 
say,  a  text-book." 

"  I  don't,"  grinned  Hannibal. 

"  We  will  make  the  supposition,"  replied  Mr.  Grober  gravely. 
"  You  come  to  me.  Having  in  my  control  the  whole  of  the 
second-hand  books  in  the  country,  I  maintain  price.  You  offer  a 
shilling.  I  keep  the  price  at  two  shillings,  even  three.  You  are 
financially  at  my  mercy." 

"  People  'Id  buy  new  ones  then,"  surmised  Hannibal. 

"  Ah !  You  have  put  your  finger  on  an  important  point.  The 
scheme  would  involve  negotiations  with  the  publishers,  and  that 
is  a  fatal  defect.  I  have  discovered,  young  man,"  Mr.  Grober 
remarked  with  energy,  "  that  anything  which  involves  negotia- 
tions with  a  publisher  is  apt  to  prove  unfortunate  for  the  other 
party. 

"  Were  you  the  other  party  ?  "  asked  Hannibal  curiously. 

"  For  my  sins,  I  was,"  said  Mr.  Grober.  "  If  you  will  assist 
me  to  shut  up,  I  will  tell  you  about  it." 

"All   right,  mister." 

Hannibal  set  to  work  at  once.  He  put  down  his  pipe,  strode 
out  to  the  front  and  began  tumbling  the  books  into  the  boxes. 
Mr.  Grober  turned  out  the  gas  in  the  front  and  carried  in  the 
various  cards  which  announced  to  a  careless  world  the  sacrifice 
of  certain  special  lots  at  prices  hardly  compatible  with  Mr. 
Grober's  imaginary  trust.  When  the  boxes  were  inside  and 
the  shutter  down,  he  motioned  Hannibal  towards  the  back  room. 
To  the  young  man's  look  of  scared  enquiry  he  indicated  the 
ceiling  with  his  forefinger,  pursing  his  lips  to  imply  that  while 
Mrs.  Grober  had  retired  to  an  upper  floor,  quietness  would  en- 
sure her  remaining  there.  With  some  apprehension,  therefore, 
Hannibal  passed  the  glass  door  and  found  himself  in  a  small, 
dirty  room  furnished  with  sofa  and  chairs  of  dark  green  velvet, 
an  oval  table  with  a  black  oil-cloth  cover,  and  a  stunted  side- 
board. A  naked  gas-burner  over  the  table  gave  a  scanty  illumi- 
nation. Mr.  Grober  followed,  rubbing  his  hands.  Into  his 
seamed  and  bloodless  features  had  come  a  certain  exultation. 
Stooping  before  the  sideboard  he  took  from  it  a  square  bottle 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  301 

and  two  thick  glasses.  Setting  them  on  the  table,  he  regarded 
them  for  a  moment  in  deep  thought,  as  though  he  were  struggling 
to  realise  the  solemnity  of  the  moment.  Hannibal,  his  cap  in 
his  hand,  sat  on  the  edge  of  the  sofa,  watching  him  shyly.  At 
length  Mr.  Grober,  still  keeping  his  cap  on  his  head,  removed 
the  cork  and  poured  out  some  whisky.  Then  he  looked  round 
as  though  he  had  lost  something.  Feeling  in  his  pocket  for 
matches,  he  struck  one  and  searched  in  a  cupboard  near  the 
window.     He  brought  back  a  jug  containing  water. 

"  The  lower  classes  of  the  metropolis  occasionally  use  milk," 
he  remarked,  filling  up  Hannibal's  glass  and  adding  a  tiny  trickle 
to  his  own.  "  I  believe  it  is  considered  vulgar,  though  it  would 
puzzle  a  philosopher  to  explain  why.  I  mentioned  something 
about  publishers,  did  I  not?  Well,  many  years  ago, —  but  drink, 
my  friend,  drink,"  and  he  pushed  the  glass  to  the  abashed  Han- 
nibal. A  sudden  vision  of  his  mother  waiting  up  for  him  at 
home  flashed  across  his  mind.  Was  he,  after  all,  effecting  any- 
thing particularly  heroic  by  associating  with  this  old  man?  And 
then  the  great  desire  to  press  forward  into  experience,  to  pass 
somehow  beyond  the  narrow  bounds  which  had  been  hemming 
him  in,  came  over  him,  and  he  lifted  the  glass. 

He  heard  Mr.  Grober  clinking  the  square  bottle  against  his 
tumbler  as  he  poured  out  another  measure  of  the  spirit.  What 
was  it  Mr.  Grober  was  saying?  Hannibal  felt  astonishingly 
buoyant  and  optimistic.  He  tried  to  keep  his  attention  on 
Mr.  Grober.  "  I  believed  in  those  days  in  the  future.  For 
me  it  existed  as  a  bright  and  roseate  dream  of  ineffable  power 
and  joy,"  so  ran  Mr.  Grober's  thin  voice,  quavering  now  with 
excitement  as  the  spirit  pervaded  his  brain.  "  I  dreamed  in 
my  folly,  that  since  ambition  had  marked  me  for  her  own,  I 
would  find  recognition,  fame,  wealth,  ultimate  illimitable  happi- 
ness. I  deemed  that,  having  Youth,  I  had  every  requisite  to 
invest  the  manifestation  of  my  life  with  the  form  of  Art.  I  — 
what  was  I  saying?  Invest^ aye,  a  fatal  word!  The  dam- 
nable materialism  of  the  age  has  covered  the  very  language  of 
art  with  its  offensive  slime.  Had  I  but  lived  in  the  glorious 
days  of  the  Renaissance,  when  Cellini,  Michael  Angelo,  and 
Aretino  lived  out  their  fierce  and  tragic  lives !  " 

The  young  man  sat  on  the  edge  of  the  sofa  listening  to  the 
old  man's  wandering  and  incoherent  speech  in  some  perplexity. 
The  spirit  was  potent  within  him;  his  mind  soared  to  a  sense 


302  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

of  supreme  accomplishment.  Mr.  Grober,  after  all,  was  not 
so  important  as  he  seemed  to  think  he  was.  That  old  chap 
over  there  was  gassing  away  —  poor  old  blighter!  Now  he, 
Hannibal  Gooderich,  had  something  in  him.  He  was  going  to 
do  something.  What  was  it  he  was  going  to  do?  Never  mind. 
He  shook  his  head  portentously  in  front  of  Mr.  Grober,  who 
was  pointing  at  him  with  the  stem  of  his  pipe. 

"  Have  you,"  asked  Mr.  Grober,  "  ever  reflected  that  a  man's 
destiny  may  be  determined  by  a  trivial  matter  ?  ** 

Hannibal  shook  his  head.     **  Don't  understand,"  he  said. 

"  I  speak  of  men,  not  failures,  not  even  those  so-called  suc- 
cessful beings  who  plod  along  year  after  year  and  never  muster 
courage  to  turn  and  grapple  with  their  fate.  I  speak  of  men, 
not  of  the  great  majority  like  ourselves.  We  never  give  hostages 
to  fortune,  we  never  dare  to  burn  our  ships  behind  us.  We  creep 
along  in  the  mud  until  the  grave  opens  and  takes  us  in.  I  speak 
of  men!  "  The  old  man's  voice  rang  out  on  the  word  with  an 
energy  and  resonance  that  startled  himself.  He  shrank  into 
himself  again,  listening  fearfully  for  any  sound  above. 

"  I  don't  see  why  I  shouldn't  do  somethin'  on  my  own," 
whispered  Hannibal.     "  I'm  goin'  to  try,  any'ow." 

"Beard  Destiny  in  his  den?  Brave  youth!  Think  of  the 
millions  round  you.     If  they  fail,  can  you  succeed?  " 

"  Who's  goin'  to  stop  me?  "  asked  the  young  man. 

"  Yourself.  Your  own  craven  spirit ! "  cried  Mr  Grober, 
striking  the  table  with  a  soundless  blow.  "  Do  you  think  I 
have  not  tried  it?  Aye,  tried,  and  at  the  first  roar  of  the 
monster  I  ran  screaming  back  to  my  accustomed  haunts.  Not 
for  me  the  great  world  of  action,  not  for  me  the  glorious  struggle 
with  unknown  perils.  I  realised  all  too  soon  the  fundamental 
difference  between  men  and  men.  Fear,  grim  Fear  sent  me  to 
my  kennel,  chained  me  there,  and  here  you  behold  me.  The 
Philosophy  of  Fear!  When  will  the  genius  rise  to  proclaim 
it?  Foolish  dream!  Grim  paradox,  my  young  friend!  For  if 
a  man  be  held  by  Fear,  he  will  never  rise  to  proclaim  it." 

"  I  see  what  you  mean,"  said  Hannibal  in  a  new  voice.  "  I 
reckon  I've  got  into  that  'abit  myself,  thinkin'  as  I  can't  go 
off  on  my  own.  Various  things,  me  bein'  engaged  and  all  that 
—  they  do  make  you  feel  kind  of  'elpless." 

"  Bound  to  the  Caucasus,"  assented  Mr.  Grober,  pouring  him- 
self out  more  whisky. 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  803 

"But  I've  been  thinkin'  jus'  lately  that  I'd  like  to  get  out 
and  see  things.  F'r  instance,  a  friend  o'  mine,  'e's  a  sailor, 
and " 

"  You  propose  to  follow  his  example?     Excellent!     Tell  me." 

Hannibal  told  him.  He  told  it  disjointedly,  going  over  the 
ground  with  interminable  repetition,  growing  more  fluent  as 
he  proceeded,  encouraged  by  the  nodding  of  the  old  man's 
head.  He  told  it  ungrammatically  and  egotistically,  told  it  to 
an  elderly  failure  with  years  of  systematic  alcoholic  stimulus, 
and  whose  brain  cells  were  sagging  with  reaction,  whose  dull 
blue  eyes  peered  at  him  through  the  curling  smoke  of  a  mal- 
odorous tobacco.  He  told  it  in  a  way  that  debars  it  from  tran- 
scription, and  yet  in  spite  of,  perhaps  because  of  this  disabil- 
ity, he  communicated  for  the  first  time  his  own  view  of  the 
world;  he  did  that  thing  which  so  many  of  us  fail  utterly  to  do, 
he  put  forth  his  hand  and  touched  the  garment's  hem  of  Ro- 
mance, he  thrilled  as  he  felt  his  soul  pushing  slowly,  blun- 
deringly, yet  surely  through  the  veils  of  custom  and  law.  He 
saw  once  more  those  strange  shapes  that  had  haunted  his  child- 
hood, realising  suddenly  how  sheath  after  sheath  of  his  im- 
mediate life  had  closed  round  him  and  shut  him  off  from  that 
vast  rhythmic  dream-world  beyond.  .  .  . 

He  paused,  and  found  himself  sitting  strained  and  stiff  on  the 
edge  of  the  sofa,  his  glass  in  his  hand,  staring  at  the  rigid 
features  of  the  old  man. 

"  An'  so,"  he  concluded  lamely,  setting  down  the  glass  and 
looking  round  in  a  dazed  way  — "  an'  so  I  thought  as  I  might 
find  it  agen,  if  I  got  out  o'  the  net,  see?  I  ain't  'ad  much 
education,  an'  I  can't  put  it  very  well.  That  sailor-chap  in 
the  Iceland  book  —  when  'e  was  away  out  there,  fightin',  'e 
found  it,  such  a  long  way  from  'ome.  I  don't  reckon  you  can 
ever  see  these  tilings  while  you're  at  'ome,  eh  ?  " 

He  looked  into  the  bowl  of  his  pipe  as  though  he  could  read 
the  tremendous  riddle  in  the  ashes.  Mr.  Grober  was  silent  for 
a  space,  the  frayed  fabric  of  his  deteriorated  mind  catching  at 
odds  and  ends  of  the  narrative.  An  expression,  of  bewilderment 
and  grief  struggled  through  the  mask  as  the  memory  of  his  own 
yotlth  was  recalled  by  the  young  man's  words.  A  sudden  vision 
of  himself  as  he  might  have  been,  had  he  held  to  his  own,  came 
with  appalling  clearness  before  him.  The  rickety  scaffolding 
of   hypocrisy,    plastered    with    the   gaudy   lying   show-cards   of 


304  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

quack  philosophy,  which  concealed  his  failure  from  his  own  eyes, 
fell  away. 

He  closed  his  eyes  for  a  moment,  close-locked  in  his  own  mute 
agony,  and  then  reached  for  the  bottle.  The  young  man  had 
not  asked  him  for  advice,  had  not  craved  his  judgment  upon 
the  world,  and  he  felt  the  unconscious  slight.  He  was  nothing, 
a  mere  vacuum  in  the  surrounding  density,  a  vacuum  which  had 
sucked  from  the  lad  his  story.  He  bowed  his  head  as  though 
to  the  decree  of  an  invisible  fate. 

"I  —  I  am  scarcely  in  a  position  to  say,"  he  remarked  in  a 
dull,  spiritless  voice.  "  My  own  experience  of  the  great  arena 
of  action  has  not  been  exactly  exhilarating." 

Hannibal  sat  unheeding,  absorbed  in  his  own  gnarled  and 
tangled  thoughts.  The  clink  of  the  bottle  against  the  glass 
roused  him.     He  looked  round  to  see  the  time. 

"  I  must  get  along,"  he  said,  standing  up.  "  The  old  woman'll 
be  wonderin*  where  I've  got  to." 

"  Have  another  drink,"  said  Mr.  Grober,  filling  his  glass. 
"  Success  to  your  new  resolutions.  I  wish  —  I  wish  —  but  never 
mind,  my  wishes  generally  escape  the  notice  of  providence.  I 
shall  merely  wish  you  joy  of  your  adventure." 

Once  more  Hannibal  swallowed  the  strange  liquor  that  felt 
like  hot  velvet  in  his  throat  and  sent  a  shiver  through  him, 
and  then  he  took  his  cap. 

"  Goo'  night,  mister,"  he  said.     "  I'll  look  in  agen." 

"  Like  a  ship  passing  in  the  night,"  said  the  old  man,  his  dull 
blue  eyes  straying  over  Hannibal  as  they  passed  into  the  shop. 
There  was  a  sound  of  footsteps  overhead,  a  creak  of  the  stairs, 
and  Mr.  Grober's  expression  changed.  Tiptoing  across  the  floor, 
Hannibal  let  himself  out. 

"  Good  night !  "  whispered  the  old  man,  peering  forward  with 
strained,  ghastly  features.  "  I  give  you  a  crumb  of  wisdom  — 
not  mine,  alas!  Be  master  of  yourself.  The  world  is  not  an 
oyster  to  be  opened,  but  a  quicksand  to  be  passed.  If  you  have 
wings  you  can  fly  over  it,  if  not  you  may  —  yes,  yes,  I  am  com- 
ing now,  my  dear!  —  you  may  quite  possibly  be  sucked  in." 

The  door  closed  abruptly  and  Hannibal  found  himself  under 
the  huge  dome  of  the  starlit  sky.  For  a  moment  he  looked  up 
and  down  the  broad  thoroughfare  with  its  endless  rows  of  street 
lamps,  its  late  tram  clanking  up  from  Mile  End,  its  occasional 
swirl  of  yellow  radiance  from  tavern  or  ham-and-beef  shop,  its 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  305 

hurrying  pedestrians  and  leisurely  policemen.  Oblivious  of  the 
ferment  in  his  brain,  the  world  was  settling  down  to  a  few  hours 
of  rest.  Hannibal  set  forward,  crossing  the  road  in  front  of  the 
tram.  The  lateness  of  the  hour  —  for  the  East  End  is  unlike  the 
West  in  this  —  came  to  him  with  fresh  force,  and  he  hurried  on. 
Assembly  Passage  seemed  unusually  long  in  the  darkness.  Its 
one  lamp,  bracketed  high  up  and  flaring  through  a  broken  pane, 
flung  a  darting  and  ghostly  light  athwart  shutters  and  windows. 
Emerging  into  Jubilee  Street,  he  saw  a  light  in  the  front  room. 
The  old  lady  was  waiting  up  for  him.  A  shadow  rose  and 
crossed  the  blind  as  the  gate  whined  at  his  touch. 

"Why,  Hanny,  wherever  have  you  been?  I  was  gettin' 
anxious." 

He  told  her  briefly,  flinging  his  cap  on  a  chair  and  sitting  on 
the  sofa  to  unlace  his  boots.  Mrs.  Gooderich  followed  him  in 
and  stood  watching  him. 

"  I've  had  a  visit,"  she  said,  sitting  by  the  table  and  leaning 
her  chin  on  her  hand.     "  I've  had  a  visit  from  Minnie." 

Hannibal,  flushed  with  stooping,  raised  his  eyes  to  his  mother's 
face. 

"Eh?"  he  said  blankly.  Mrs.  Gooderich  repeated  the  re- 
mark. 

"  After  all  this  time  ?  "  he  queried. 

"  After  all  this  time." 

"What'd  she  say?" 

"  She  was  very  quiet,"  said  Mrs.  Gooderich.  "  Very  quiet." 
And  then  she  added  as  an  afterthought:     "  She  always  was." 

M  She  ain't  —  comin' — 'ere?  " 

"  No,"  said  Mrs.  Gooderich.     "  She  isn't." 

"What'd  she  come  for?" 

"  To  tell  me  she  was  goin'  to  be  married." 

"Ah!" 

"She's  a  fine  lady  now,  by  her  clo'es.  Do  you  know  what 
that  means,  Hanny?" 

Mrs.  Gooderich's  face  was  pale  with  resolution.  She  too  had 
been  going  through  a  crisis.  The  sudden  apparition  of  her 
daughter  had  flung  her  thoughts  around  her  son.  It  was  time 
Hanny  was  told  certain  things.  Hannibal  set  his  boots  down 
in  a  corner  and  shook  his  head. 

"  I'm  tired,"  he  said,  rubbing  his  eyes.      » 

"What's  the  matter?"  said  his  mother  sharply. 


306  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

"  Bit  worried/'  he  answered.  "  'Ad  some  words  with  Amy. 
She's  always  gettin'  at  me." 

"  Oh,  Hanny !  "  Mrs.  Gooderich  sprang  up.  "  You  aren't  goin' 
to  spoil  everything  now!  Think  what  it  means  to  me."  And 
she  made  a  gesture  of  despair. 

"  It  ain't  my  fault/'  he  argued.  "  I  can't  'elp  it.  I  don't 
reckon  we'd  get  on  very  well.  We  ain't  Uncle  George's  sort, 
any'ow.  You  know,  mother,"  he  went  on,  his  hands  in  his 
pockets,  "  I  feel  sometimes  in  that  shop  as  if  I'd  go  off  me  head. 
I  seem  to  be  jus'  rottin'  there.  And  if  I  been  thinkin'  as  'ow 
it's  got  to  come  some  day,  so  it  might  as  well  come  now.  I'm 
goin'  to  try  and  do  somethin'  on  me  own." 

"  What  ?  "  she  asked  dully,  sitting  down  again.  "  You  goin' 
that  way,  too  ?  " 

"  It's  like  bein'  in  prison,"  he  said,  "  since  I  left  off  goin' 
about  with  the  chaps.  Prison,  excep'  'avin'  somethin'  to  read.  I 
been  thinkin'  a  lot  lately  an'  I  want  to  clear  out." 

"  I  see  you  readin'  Flotsam  the  other  day,"  said  Mrs.  Goode- 
rich. "  You'll  be  flotsam  if  you  don't  take  care.  I  was  afraid 
you'd  be  gettin'  ideas." 

"  I  don't  care,"  he  growled.  "  Better  be  flotsam  than  moochin' 
in  a  tobacconist's  all  me  life.  Little  Brown  Box,  Little  Brown 
Box.  Eh?  Stop  there  till  I'm  ready  for  another  little  brown 
box?     Ugh!" 

"  What  can  you  do  ?  "  she  asked,  distressed. 

"  I'll  find  somethin'.  Mr.  Grober,  'e  ses  '  be  your  own  master.' 
So  I  will.  I  don't  want  no  Uncle  Georges  nor  Aunt  Elizas 
neither.  All  very  well  for  them  with  their  seaside  an'  cabs  an' 
nice  'ouses.  Let  'em  'ave  it.  I'm  goin'  me  own  road,  damn 
'em." 

"  Hanny,  you  mustn't  say  such  things !  " 

"  I  tell  you  I  am !  What'd  you  want  to  go  to  'im  for,  any- 
way? I  could  'a'  got  another  job  without  'im.  They're  only 
makin'  a  convenience  o'  me,  any'ow." 

Mrs.  Goodericli  was  silent.  Minnie,  sitting  there  cool  and 
composed  that  afternoon,  had  said  the  same  thing  in  other 
words,  had  offered  her  mother  money,  which  had  been  refused 
with  scorn. 

"Ain't  she  comin'  any  more,  then?"  he  asked  suddenly,  re- 
calling his  mother's  news, 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  307 

"  I  don't  know.  She  said  something  about  lookin'  in  again 
to-morrow." 

"  An'  she's  goin'  to  be  married  ?     Who  to  ?  " 

A  shadow  crossed  his  mother's  face. 

"  She  says  he's  in  a  very  good  position,  and  they've  been 
waitin'.  She  says  'e  put  up  the  money  for  that  business  o' 
theirs  in  Sloane  Street,  and  those  'olidays  she  'ad  on  the  Conti- 
nent. I  don't  understand  it  myself.  People  don't  give  you 
money,  if  they  don't  want  somethin'  in  return,  especially  men." 

"  Well,"  said  Hannibal,  yawning,  "  she's  done  all  right  for 
herself,  I  should  reckon.     Any  supper,  mother?  " 

Mrs.  Gooderich  rose  to  get  him  something  to  eat. 

"  It's  past  twelve,"  she  remarked  reprovingly.  "  I  don't  think 
you  ought  to  stay  out  so  late." 

"  I  wasn't  out,"  he  retorted  testily.  "  I  was  sittin'  in  the 
room  behind  the  shop,  talkin*.  That's  where  it  is,"  he  con- 
tinued, "  all  the  time,  you  an*  Amy.  You  don't  think  this,  you 
don't  think  that!  Why  can't  you  lea*  me  alone?  I  ain't  Jack 
the  Ripper,  am  I?     Nag,  nag,  nag!" 

He  plumped  himself  down  and  began  to  eat  in  sullen  silence. 

"  I'm  your  mother,  I  think."  Mrs.  Gooderich  intended  to 
convey  cutting  sarcasm.  "  By  the  way  you  fly  out  at  me,  I 
might  be  dirt.  Minnie's  the  same,  she  always  was.  I  did  think 
you  were  goin*  to  be  different,  Hanny.  I  did  think  Amy  was 
going  to  make  a  man  of  you." 

"  Amy  can  get  somebody  else  to  make  a  man  of,"  he  replied. 
"  I'm  no  use  to  'er.  She  as  good  as  told  me  I  went  round 
catchin'  flies,  my  mind  ain't  on  me  work,  and  all  the  rest  of  it. 
She's  got  the  idea  she  can  bat  me  round  jus'  as  she  likes." 

"  Then  you  must  have  been  doin'  something  or  other,"  said  his 
mother. 

"  I  went  to  get  a  drink  an'  some  change,  an'  I  was  away  from 
the  shop  about  a  minute,  that's  what  I  was  doin*.  That  was 
only  an  excuse!  I  ain't  their  sort  down  at  Kennington.  She 
come  down  to  ol'  Grober's  shop  this  evenin'  wi'  me,  and  turns 
up  her  nose  at  the  place.  Don't  approve  of  'im,  I  s'pose.  Every 
bally  thing  I  do  is  wrong.  The  kitten  was  all  wrong  too  —  an' 
jus'  because  she's  got  the  tin.     She  can  'ave  it." 

"  Oh,  I  am  sorry  you  can't  get  on  there,  Hanny.  You  know, 
she's  right  in  a  way.     You  do  need  someone  to  look  after  you." 


308  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

"  No  use  arguhV,"  he  answered.  "  Let's  go  to  bed.  My  'ead 
aches." 

"  You  smoke  too  much,"  began  his  mother. 

"  Oh,  drop  it,  do,"  he  cried  desperately.  "  Do  say  somethin* 
without  frndin*  fault.  What  am  I  made  of?  Tell  me  that! 
What  am  I  made  of?     Wouldn't  it  drive  anybody  balmy?  " 

And  without  waiting  for  his  mother's  reply,  he  went  out  and 
shut  the  door  behind  him. 


WHEN  Hannibal  had  washed  his  hands  in  his  little 
basin  behind  the  counter  after  sweeping  out  the 
shop,  polishing  the  brasswork,  dusting  the  rows  of 
canisters,  replenishing  the  canaries'  seed-pots  and 
the  match-jars  that  stood  by  the  cigar-cutter,  he  took  up  a  book- 
let that  had  been  lying  on  the  floor  by  the  gate  when  he  had  ar- 
rived. It  was  an  attractive  little  pamphlet,  with  a  sap-green 
cover  on  which  was  represented  a  young  man  with  sharp,  clean- 
shaven jaws  holding  his  crooked  fingers  over  the  floating  form 
of  a  young  lady  lightly  clad.  In  eye-piercing  lettering  the  title 
ran  Raising  the  Dead.  Desirous  of  knowing  something  about 
this  subject,  Hannibal  silenced  the  inner  voice  that  told  him  it 
was  only  an  advertisement  for  a  Pill,  and  sat  down  to  investi- 
gate. 

Outside  was  a  May  morning.  Even  Billiter  Lane  was  of 
cheerful  aspect.  Clerks,  hasting  to  their  offices  or  to  the  Baltic 
Exchange,  vendors  of  violets,  bananas  and  dates,  maps  of  Lon- 
don and  copies  of  shipping  newspapers,  made  the  little  dark 
canyon  between  the  great  blocks  of  buildings  seem  gay  and 
debonair.  The  kitten,  witli  her  blue  ribbon  askew  on  her  neck, 
sat  by  the  door  and  carried  out  an  exhaustive  personal  examina- 
tion. From  Fenchurch  Street  came  the  drone  of  a  great  traffic, 
punctuated  at  intervals  by  the  call  of  a  newsman  or  hoot  of  a 
motor  horn,  hoarse,  poignant,  and  unmusical. 

Hannibal  read  the  pamphlet  in  some  perplexity.  It  implored 
him  to  pause  and  realise  the  terrific  power  which  lay  latent 
within  him.  This  power  was  described  as  Hypnotic  Suggestion. 
Up  to  the  present  this  power  had  been  used  merely  for  such 
trivial  purposes  as  medical  science  had  indicated.  That  was 
now  to  be  changed.  He,  the  reader  of  that  booklet,  had  power 
to  raise  the  dead.  Was  this  an  exaggeration?  By  no  means. 
People  without  ambition  were  dead,  practically  speaking.  We 
referred  to  such  as  "  dead  to  the  world."  That  was  to  end  right 
away.  That  dead  ambition  was  to  be  resuscitated.  Why  did 
people  remain  in  this  coma  of  inaction?     Why  did  people  find 


810  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

it  so  difficult  to  succeed?  Because  they  did  not  know  their  work. 
Inefficiency!  the  booklet  replied  in  double  leaded  capitals. 
Why  did  they  not  know  their  work?  Because  they  did  not 
utilise  the  amazing  facilities  of  the  Pallas  Athene  School  of 
Tuition  by  Correspondence.  Never  mind  others.  Hypnotise 
yourself.  Raise  yourself  from  the  dead  wreck  of  inefficients. 
Nowadays  the  incompetent  man  was  kicked  out.  He  was 
scrapped.  His  ultimate  destination  was  the  casual  ward.  He 
lay  under  sentence  of  death  before  the  Bar  of  the  Modern  Busi- 
ness World. 

Hannibal,  with  some  misgivings,  stared  at  the  illustrations. 
There  was  Pallas  Athene  leaping  full-armed  from  the  head  of 
Jupiter,  for  your  really  smart  advertiser  has  no  time  to  dis- 
criminate between  the  mythologies;  there  was  a  trembling  in- 
efficient standing  before  a  court  of  stern  captains  of  industry, 
who  were  sentencing  him  to  death;  there  was  a  broad-shoul- 
dered efficient  sitting  at  an  immense  roll-top  desk,  with  a  back- 
ground of  scores  of  other  inferior  efficients  toiling  at  type- 
writers; there  were  little  pictures  of  young  Arabs,  Russians, 
Japanese,  and  Hindoos,  poring  over  the  sheets  issued  by  the 
Pallas  Athene  School.  Occasionally  wetting  his  thumb  to  turn 
the  thick,  highly-glazed  pages,  Hannibal  went  through  the  pam- 
phlet over  and  over  again.  He  wondered  if  Mr.  Grober  had  re- 
ceived one.  Most  probably.  And  what  would  Mr.  Grober  think 
of  it?  Here  was  Mr.  Grober's  teaching  in  a  modern  and  biting 
form.  At  the  end  was  a  page  of  "  Axiomatic  Aphorisms,  the 
Double-distilled  Quintessence  of  Philosophic  Thought,  boiled 
down  and  left  in  a  cool  place  to  set."     As  thus :  — 

'*  Jupiter  reached  Danae  in  the  shape  of  a  shower  of  gold. 
It  was  the  only  way  he  could  reach  her." 

"  A  man  can  do  the  same  —  go  through  towers  of  brass  —  if 
he  has  the  gold." 

"  We  show  him  how  to  get  the  gold." 

He  laid  it  aside  at  length,  and  went  to  the  door  to  think. 
He  stood  there  in  his  shirt-sleeves,  smoking  a  cigarette  and 
trying  to  arrange  things  in  his  mind.  Was  there  any  truth  after 
all  in  that  little  green  book?  Was  it  a  certain  thing  that  he, 
having  a  desire  not  to  amass  gold,  nor  acquire  a  position  among 
captains  of  industry,  but  to  see  this  great  wonderful  world  in 
which  he  had  been  born,  and  enjoy  the  beauty  of  it  —  was  it 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  311 

certain  he  was  doomed  to  sink  down  into  the  mire  and  die? 
He  felt  greatly  perturbed.  He  had  a  sort  of  panicky  feeling 
whenever  he  compared  himself  with  those  same  captains  of 
industry,  those  rigid-featured  geniuses  who  think  in  millions. 
Once  he  had  read  in  a  weekly  paper  an  account  of  the  marvel- 
lous career  of  one  Sir  Anthony  Gilfillan,  the  inventor  of  those 
same  Gilfillan  Filaments  which  illuminated  the  Little  Brown 
Box.  He  had  read  Sir  Anthony's  maxims  for  success.  The 
faked  photograph  of  the  man,  with  deep-sunken  eyes  and  bulging 
brow,  had  given  him  that  panicky  feeling.  And  he  had  won- 
dered why  his  mother,  seeing  the  picture,  had  taken  the  paper 
away  from  him.  To  tell  the  truth,  when  Hannibal  read  of  these 
great  men,  that  they  had  once  been  poor  boys  like  himself,  he 
did  not  believe  it.  They  may  have  been  in  moderate  circum- 
stances, but  they  had  had  some  sort  of  luck.  And  as  he  grew 
up,  there  had  grown  up  along  with  him  a  dim  conviction  that 
the  cause  of  their  success  was  their  intense  desire  for  it. 
So  that  in  the  end,  Hannibal  and  Mrs.  Gaynor  and  the  Pallas 
Athene  School  had  all  arrived  at  the  same  simple  psychological 
fact,  so  ably  expressed  by  Mrs.  Gaynor  herself  when  she  said 
that  many  people  fail  to  get  what  they  wish  because  they  don't 
wish  hard  enough. 

Hannibal  decided,  as  he  stood  there  beside  the  kitten,  looking 
out  into  the  street,  that  very  likely  these  efficient  folk  were 
right.  But  there  came  his  difficulty.  He  could  not  see  why,  if  a 
fellow  like  himself  wanted  to  look  on  at  the  show,  he  couldn't 
do  it  without  being  considered  a  criminal.  Everything  he  him- 
self took  an  interest  in  seemed  to  have  no  money  value.  There 
was  Tiny  Tim  the  kitten,  Bob  and  Bill  the  canaries.  He  loved 
them,  loved  to  watch  them  and  feel  that  they  knew  him.  It 
was  a  great  deal  to  him  that  the  canaries  would  jump  on  his 
finger  if  he  put  it  between  the  bars,  that  Tiny  Tim  would 
climb  upon  his  shoulder  and  go  to  sleep  as  he  sat  behind  the 
counter  reading.  And  although  a  certain  diffidence  of  soul  led 
him  to  say  nothing  to  Amelia  about  it,  he  loved  the  flowers  too. 
They  did  not  shout  at  him  that  he  was  not  succeeding  in  life, 
that  he  was  guilty  of  inefficiency,  that  he  must  get  on  or  get 
out;  and  yet,  for  all  that,  they  told  him  many  things.  So  too 
with  books  and  pictures.  I  have  mentioned  some  of  the  books 
with  which  Mr.  Grobcr  supplied  him,  but  I  have  not  mentioned 
the  ever-present  influence  of  the  bookstall  and  picture  shop. 


312  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

There  were  certain  windows  before  which  the  young  man  always 
paused,  windows  in  which  were  pictures.  There  was  one  which 
had  given  him  a  great  deal  of  pleasure,  a  painting  of  a  wide 
stretch  of  green,  rolling  Atlantic,  and  it  was  called  "  Across  the 
Western  Ocean."  He  was  sorry  when  that  picture  was  taken 
away.  But  all  this  was  of  no  profit  to  him,  according  to  the 
Pallas  Athene  School.  Of  what  use,  they  asked,  were  fine  ideas 
and  delicate  thoughts  if  you  made  no  money  out  of  them?  And 
he  sighed  as  his  attention  was  drawn  to  two  men  who  emerged 
from  the  office  of  the  steamship  company  across  the  way  and 
came  over  towards  him.  One  of  them  was  a  short,  thick-set 
little  man  with  a  beard,  who  carried  a  brown  leather  satchel  like 
a  young  lady's  music-case.  Hannibal  retreated  behind  the 
counter.  They  entered,  and  when  the  little  man  had  ordered 
some  fine-cut  pipe  tobacco,  continued  talking. 

"  And  there's  nothing  else,  I  suppose,  Captain?  "  said  the  tall 
young  man,  whom  Hannibal  had  served  occasionally. 

The  gentleman  addressed  as  Captain,  busy  lighting  a  cigar, 
shook  his  head.  He  had  laid  his  satchel  on  the  counter  and 
Hannibal  could  read  the  name  on  it  in  sloping  gilt  letters: 

s.s.  Caryatid. 

Hannibal  placed  the  required  canister  on  the  counter  and 
looked  respectfully  at  the  Captain. 

"  The  chief  said  he  wanted  a  lad,"  said  the  latter,  putting 
down  some  silver.  "  I  don't  think  he  can  get  anybody  here ; 
he  doesn't  know  London  much.  I  said  I'd  mention  it  while  I 
was  up  in  the  City." 

"  Why  doesn't  he  go  to  the  Sailors'  Home  ?  "  said  the  young 
man,  lighting  a  cigarette. 

"  He  can't  get  away.  And  besides,  he  says  he  doesn't  want  a 
lad  who's  been  to  sea  before.  They  know  too  much.  Always 
trouble  with  'em."  He  looked  up  and  saw  Hannibal's  strained, 
attentive  face. 

"  D'you  know  anybody  ?  "  he  asked  abruptly. 

"What  —  what  sort  o'  job,  sir?"  stammered  Hannibal. 

"  Mess-room  Steward.     Good  job  for  a  handy  lad." 

"On  a  ship,  sir?" 

"  Sure." 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  know  somebody." 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  SIS 

*'  Goin*  right  away  ?  " 

"  Think  so,  sir."     Hannibal  put  down  the  change. 

The  Captain  took  it  up  and  pointed  to  the  name  of  the  ship  on 
the  satchel. 

"  Victoria  Dock.  Sailin'  to-morrow.  He'd  better  go  down 
and  see  the  Chief  to-day.     Say  Captain  Briscoe  sent  him  down." 

"  Yes,  sir." 

They  went  out  and  other  customers  came  in,  the  usual  ten-to- 
eleven  stream,  and  Hannibal  served  them  like  one  in  a  trance. 
What  a  strange  world  it  was!  Here  was  a  job  on  a  ship;  and 
this  determined  little  man,  in  his  dark  blue  suit  and  bowler  hat, 
his  slow  authoritative  manner  and  freckled  hairy  hands,  seemed 
to  have  a  different  view  of  life  to  those  appallingly  efficient  peo- 
ple who  had  printed  that  pamphlet  about  Raising  the  Dead. 
Hannibal  wondered  if  he  had  after  all  dreamt  it.  Here  was  a 
job  where  the  holders  of  it  could  easily  know  too  much.  Was  it 
not  too  good  to  be  true?  Surely  this  was  an  oversight  on  the 
part  of  the  Pallas  Athene  School  of  Efficiency. 

He  turned  it  over  in  his  mind  as  he  served  the  customers. 
He  hardly  dared  think  of  the  thing  to  which  he  was  com- 
mitted. To  desert  the  shop  and  Amelia,  to  trample  on  the 
Brown  Ideals!  The  s.s.  Caryatid.  He  looked  out  across  the 
street  at  the  picture.  Was  that  the  Caryatid  in  some  far-dis- 
tant port?  The  kitten  jumped  on  the  counter  and  rubbed  her- 
self against  him  unnoticed.  One  thing  cheered  Hannibal  im- 
mensely, and  that  was  the  promptness  with  which  he  had  seized 
the  opportunity.  After  all,  it  was  strange  that  skippers  of 
steamers  had  not  patronised  the  shop  before.  Another  character- 
istic of  the  affair  gave  him  a  certain  comfort.  It  almost  seemed 
as  if  the  control  of  things  had  passed  out  of  his  hands.  It  was 
fate.     He  was  destined  to  go  away. 

And  then  he  came  down  to  earth  again  as  he  thought  of 
Amelia.  He  had  left  her  with  frightful  abruptness  the  night 
before;  would  he  be  able  to  carry  on  that  attitude  when  she 
came  in  to-day?  He  felt  sadly  that  he  would  not.  He  figured 
her  trim  figure  suddenly  appearing  at  the  door,  her  bright  nod 
of  the  head,  her  rapid  glance  round  the  shop  to  see  if  all 
was  right,  her  brisk  inspection  of  the  cash-register.  How  she 
did  take  hold,  to  be  sure!  What  was  he  to  do?  He  tried  to 
avoid  thinking  of  what  he  was  to  do,  tried  to  fix  his  mind  on 
the   ship.     A   feeling  of  delicious  terror   ran  through  him   as 


SU  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

he  thought  of  the  strangeness  of  the  life  to  which  he  had  com- 
mitted himself  by  his  headlong  plunge  into  Captain  Briscoe's 
conversation.  He  recalled  that  visit  to  the  Docks  with  Mrs. 
Gaynor  and  Hiram,  the  great  spars  of  the  Cygnet  overhead, 
with  the  sails  dropped  partly  down  to  dry,  the  immaculate 
cleanliness  (so  different,  by  the  way,  from  steamer  cleanliness, 
or  even  workhouse  cleanliness),  the  air  of  invisible  authority  that 
informed  every  movement,  the  mystery  of  curtained  port-holes 
and  impregnable  teak  doors.  And  now  if  he  did  as  he  had 
promised,  he  was  to  see  that  life  complete,  he  would  step  aboard 
of  this  steamer,  the  Caryatid,  and  she  would  bear  him  outward 
on  the  tide,  beyond  the  mud  of  the  estuary,  out  into  the  sharp 
cool  air  and  cloud-rimmed  circle  of  the  heaving  sea.  He  caught 
his  breath  quickly  as  he  tried  to  frame  for  himself  out  of  his  igno- 
rance some  credible  presentment  of  a  streetless  and  mobile 
existence.  There  would  be  no  Little  Brown  Box.  His  imagina- 
tion staggered  and  halted  before  that  for  a  while,  for  he  had 
grown  up  among  little  brown  boxes  of  various  kinds,  he  had 
lived  in  spirit  for  many  years  in  a  little  brown  box.  He  re- 
membered his  father  in  a  brown  box  in  the  front  room.  And 
when  they  had  left  Maple  Road  their  belongings  went  into  a 
brown  box.  He  could  hardly  conceive  of  an  existence  apart  from 
that  emblem  of  discreet  security.  And  yet,  had  he  not  read 
with  vague  gropings  towards  ultimate  liberty,  of  folk  who  dwelt 
far  out  beyond  the  Narrow  Seas,  who  lived  casual  lives,  sorrow- 
ful sometimes  indeed,  but  free? 

Leaning  on  the  counter,  his  head  on  his  hands,  he  fell  into 
a  waking  dream  of  the  future.  The  kitten  crouched  by  the 
door  in  the  shaft  of  warm  sunlight  that  struck  slantwise  into 
the  street,  and  the  canaries  twittered  and  trilled  riotously  above 
him.  So  his  cousin  found  him  when  she  came,  and  remembered 
it  afterward,  that  pose  of  quiet  distraction  and  the  vacancy  of  the 
eye  which  he  turned  upon  her  when  he  spoke.  A  shadow  crossed 
her  smiling  face  when  she  saw  it.  She  had  been  inclined  to 
forgiveness  as  she  came  through  the  sunlit  streets,  though  his 
behaviour  had  been  very  reprehensible.  Rancour  had  but  small 
place  in  the  Brown  character,  and  she  had  deflected  the  enquiries 
of  her  relatives  with  jocular  evasions.  But  here  he  was  again, 
up  in  the  clouds ! 

"  I  was  getting  anxious,"  she  said.  "  Last  night  you  were  so 
short  I  thought  you  must  be  ill.     What  was  the  matter  ?  " 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  815 

He  stood  up,  and  the  kitten  having  sprung  in  friendly  agility 
on  the  counter,  he  brushed  her  away.  The  crisis  was  come,  and 
he  had  no  glib  phrase  to  hide  under. 

"  I'd'  know,"  he  said.     "  We  all  get  the  'ump  at  times." 

"  The  hump,"  she  flared.  "  A  nice  way  to  describe  it.  Tell 
me  to  my  face  you  have  had  as  much  as  you  can  stand  of  us  and 
call  it  the  hump."  And  she  took  a  handkerchief  from  her 
pocket  and  held  it  to  her  nose,  keeping  her  eyes  fixed  upon  him. 
This  was,  I  think,  because  she  could  not  trust  her  mouth  as  she 
could  her  eyes,  frequently  the  case  with  young  women  of  the 
Brown  type.  A  slow  colour  flooded  Hannibal's  cheeks  and  the 
eyelids  over  the  brown  eyes  flickered  ominously. 

Amelia  failed  to  read  her  cousin's  face  accurately.  She  imag- 
ined him  humiliated.  She  had  done  very  well  at  school,  but 
there  were  some  things  she  could  not  understand.  She  could 
not  understand  anyone  in  their  senses  saying  such  a  thing  as 
Hannibal  had  said.  She  lived  in  an  England  which  of  all  the 
Englands  known  to  man  is  immune  from  criticism,  the  England 
of  the  Middle  Classes.  This  England  is  told,  day  in  and  day 
out,  that  they  do  the  work,  fight  the  battles,  pay  the  taxes,  up- 
hold the  Flag,  and  maintain  the  kingdom  of  God  at  a  time  when 
lords  and  wage-earners  are  fallen  away.  They  do  not  strike 
and  throw  the  nation  into  the  periodical  paroxysms  that  are  "  so 
bad  for  trade."  They  do  not  congest  the  Divorce  Courts  with 
the  muck  and  garbage  of  their  undisciplined  concupiscence. 
They  are  respectable.  In  their  orderly  millions  they  fill  their 
microscopic  destinies  and  their  tombs.  Those  who  would  smile, 
let  them  look  well  into  this  matter! 

Amelia  Brown  was  aware  instinctively  of  the  titanic  weight 
of  class-consciousness  behind  her.  She  and  her  kind  valued  their 
conception  of  the  conduct  of  life  as  the  goal  towards  which 
others  aimed  but  never  readied.  The  idea  that  there  might  be  a 
side  of  the  question  which  she  could  not  see  did  not  occur  to 
her  as  she  stood  watching  him.  And  she  saw  him,  as  she  thought, 
humbled  and  without  a  word  to  say  for  himself. 

"  It's  gettin'  to  be  a  habit  with  you,"  she  went  on  as  he  did 
not  speak.  "  It  isn't  as  if  you  were  that  smart  you  could 
afford  to  be  saucy.     You  were  half  asleep  just  now." 

"  No,"  he  said,  lifting  his  hand  in  gentle  deprecation.  "  Not 
'alf  asleep.     Only  thinkin'." 

"  Not  thinkin'  of  anything  to  put  money  in  your  pocket." 


316  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

To  her  surprise  he  lifted  his  head  and  looked  at  her  with  a 
quiet  eye. 

"  No/'  he  agreed,  "  it  wasn't.     You're  quite  right  there." 

She  put  up  her  hands  and  took  off  her  hat  with  an  irritable 
movement. 

"  I  can  see  what  it  is.  I'll  have  to  do  it  all,"  she  muttered, 
as  though  in  conclusion  to  some  previous  train  of  embittered 
thought.  "  I  don't  see  why  you  couldn't  bring  your  dinner  with 
you,"  she  went  on,  reverting  to  the  moment.  "  Aunt  Mary 
could  have  something  hot  for  you  at  night.  That's  what  John 
does." 

Hannibal  seemed  impressed  with  John's  habits. 

"  Ah,"  he  said,  "  I  might  do  that  certainly." 

She  looked  at  him  curiously. 

"  You're  sensible  enough  now,"  she  told  him.  "  Go  and  get 
your  dinner.     I  want  to  get  back  to  mother." 

Obediently  he  took  his  cap  and  stepped  to  the  door.  He 
paused  for  a  moment  as  though  he  was  going  to  speak.  He 
even  turned  towards  her,  looked  up  at  the  ceiling,  and  then, 
laughing  gently,  went  out. 

And  never  went  back. 


XI 

THE  Caryatid,  in  ballast,  was  steaming  down  the  river  at 
half-speed,  and  Hannibal,  after  the  most  strenuous 
twenty-four  hours  of  his  life,  was  leaning  over  the  bul- 
warks and  watching  the  coast-line  slide  ever  away 
from  him.  He  was  at  sea.  He  could  feel  the  beat  of  the  en- 
gines down  below  him,  the  rattle  of  the  rudder-chains  in  the 
wheel-house,  the  occasional  deep  clang  of  the  telegraph  as  the 
pilot  altered  her  speed  to  slow  or  fast,  after  the  manner  of  pilots. 
Far  below  him  the  turbid  waters  of  the  Thames  received  the  out- 
pouring discharge  water  from  the  pumps,  great  curved  cataracts 
of  yellowish  foam.  It  was  evening,  and  the  City  lay  behind  them 
wrapped  in  crimson  and  purple  gauze  as  the  sunset  strove  to 
pierce  the  great  pall  that  hangs  for  ever  over  London. 

Hannibal  took  a  long  breath  as  he  looked  out  over  the  Essex 
flats  and  tried  to  fix  those  grey  distances,  those  mist-blurred 
forms  of  chimney  and  tower,  in  his  memory.  And  a  breeze 
with  a  tang  of  salt  in  it  came  up  the  river  and  ruffled  his  damp 
hair  deliciously.  He  turned  away  with  a  feeling  of  triumph  in 
his  heart.  He  had  done  it  at  last,  done  something  on  his  own, 
something,  moreover,  that  was  unheard  of  among  the  Browns, 
something  disreputable.  He  had  run  away  to  sea.  Certainly 
there  had  been  a  great  deal  of  red  tape  about  that  signing  on 
in  the  Shipping  Office,  but  for  all  that  the  essential  vagabondage 
was  there.  He  had  no  doubt  that  Amy  was  finished  with  him 
for  ever.  What  a  base  trick  he  had  played  upon  her.  To  go 
away  without  a  word,  to  leave  her  to  look  after  her  own  shop. 
Was  there  ever  a  more  diabolically  ingenious  scheme  to  wring 
the  Brown  withers?  He  tried  to  imagine  her  there  in  the  shop 
the  previous  afternoon  waiting,  waiting.  .  .  . 

They  were  all  busy  on  deck  coiling  up  ropes  and  putting  on 
tarpaulins,  and  Hannibal  went  along  the  alley  way  to  his  room 
on  the  port  side  which  he  shared  with  another  lad  who  was 
"  on  deck."  He  wanted  to  think  out  how  it  had  all  come  about. 
And  indeed  he  had  a  great  deal  to  think  of.  For  when  he  had 
reached  home  the  night  before,  his  mother  had  confronted  him 

317 


318  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

with  a  pale  drawn  face,  and  over  his  mother's  shoulder  he 
had  seen  another  face,  a  face  framed  in  a  large  hat,  with  steady 
dark  blue  eyes  and  slightly  smiling  mouth,  the  face  of  his  sister. 
And  when  his  mother  had  said,  "  Hanny,  this  is  Minnie,"  he 
had  said,  "  Ullo,"  as  though  they  had  parted  the  day  before. 

"  You've  grown,"  she  told  him,  and  then  had  taken  but  little 
notice  of  him.  Evidently  he  had  come  in  upon  a  scene.  He 
could  not  gather  a  great  deal  of  it,  but  it  referred  to  a  plan 
Minnie  had  suggested.  His  mother  would  have  none  of  it  at 
first.  Minnie  was  going  to  marry  someone  she  had  met  abroad. 
They  were  to  be  married  —  he  remembered  Minnie  laid  great 
stress  on  that  —  and  then  he  was  going  abroad  again,  and  she 
was  going  to  live  in  a  flat  off  the  King's  Road,  Chelsea.  Hanni- 
bal gathered  that  the  difficulty  lay  in  his  mother's  doubt  of 
this  story.  For  Minnie  suggested  that  her  mother  should  come 
and  live  with  her,  and  Mrs.  Gooderich,  with  an  unusual  imagina- 
tion, pictured  herself  being  lured  into  countenancing  a  menage 
which  was  not  respectable. 

It  is  easy  to  make  fun  of  Mrs.  Gooderich  and  her  ball-fringe 
morality;  but  to  her  it  was  not  funny,  it  was  not  trivial.  To 
her  it  was  the  very  plinth  of  her  life.  She  might  be  poor  and 
stupid  and  shiftless.  She  might  be  only  a  sort  of  glorified 
charwoman,  but  she  would  fight  like  a  tigress  for  that  thing 
she  had  so  nearly  forfeited  years  ago.  She  had  never  forgotten 
during  the  long  dragging  years  of  wifehood,  that  her  husband 
had  lifted  her  from  the  nameless  women.  But  she  waited  in 
vain  for  any  note  of  gratitude  in  her  daughter's  voice.  Minnie 
seemed  to  feel  she  was  conferring  a  favour  upon  this  man  whom 
she  had  met  abroad.  Mrs.  Gooderich  could  not  understand 
that.  She  could  not  understand  why  there  should  be  so  much 
going  away  in  her  daughter's  life.  There  was  a  certain  quality 
in  Mrs.  Gooderich's  mind  which  an  electrician  would  call  re- 
sistance. She  possessed  sufficient  conductivity  to  carry  the  ordi- 
nary current  of  her  life,  but  these  critical  moments  of  high 
tension  were  full  of  difficulty.  I  think  it  was  this  resistance 
which  roused  Minnie  to  irony,  and  gave  Hannibal  an  uneasy 
feeling  that  there  was  what  he  called  "  A  row  on."  He  was 
disconcerted,  for  he  wanted  to  explode  his  own  bomb.  He 
wanted  to  tell  his  mother  he  had  run  away  from  the  Little 
Brown  Box.  But  since  he  had  come  in  about  his  usual  time  his 
mother  had  not  given  him  a  chance. 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  319 

He  had  made  his  chance,  however,  end  he  had  had  the 
satisfaction  of  making  them  both  look  at  him  very  intently 
indeed.  He  was  quite  unaware  of  the  fact  that  this  ability  to 
make  people  look  hard  at  you  is  one  of  the  most  highly-prized 
faculties  in  the  world. 

"Old  lady,"  he  had  interrupted,  "why  don't  you?  You'll 
be  all  alone  'ere,  'cause  I'm  goin'  away  now." 

"  You !  " 

"Ah,  I  'eard  of  a  job  and  went  down  to  see  the  ship  and  I 
got  it.  Three  pound  a  month  and  all  found.  You'd  better 
go  to  Minnie." 

"A  ship,  Hanny?"  Minnie  had  asked. 

"  Ah,  a  steamer  —  the  Caryatid." 

"  The  Cary  — /  *  Mother  and  son  were  looking  at  each  other, 
and  did  not  see  Minnie  put  her  knuckles  to  her  lips  and  draw 
back  as  if  to  avoid  a  blow. 

"What  are  you  going  as?"  Minnie  now  asked,  arranging 
her  draperies  as  she  sat  on  the  chair  by  the  window.  And  he 
had  told  her  and  watched  her  face  assume  its  usual  expression 
of  cool  composure. 

Mrs.  Gooderich  had  sat  looking  at  her  son,  too  dazed  to 
straighten  out  her  tangled  ideas.  It  was  staggering  enough  to 
have  Minnie  come  back.  But  to  have,  on  top  of  that,  Hannibal 
going  away,  was  too  much  for  her  frayed  intellect.  She  sat 
there  struggling  in  vain  to  comprehend  it. 

"  And  we're  sailin'  to-morrow,"  he  had  informed  her. 

"What  did  Amy  say?"  she  managed  to  ask  him,  and  her 
horror  when  he  confessed  that  he  had  not  told  Amy  about  his 
intention  was  manifest  and  acute.  Brother  and  sister  looked  at 
each  other.  Evidently  what  Amy  would  say  was  of  importance 
to  their  mother.  Unconsciously  they  behaved  as  Ethel  and 
Amelia  had  behaved  towards  the  elder  woman  who  sat  with  her 
chin  in  her  hand.  What  was  she  to  do?  All  her  fair  plans  for 
her  boy's  future  were  to  be  shoved  aside.  He  was  going  on 
his  own.  In  spite  of  herself  she  felt  a  weight  of  responsibility 
lifted  from  her  shoulders.  Then  there  remained  Minnie.  How 
familiar  it  seemed,  to  have  to  consider  Minnie's  existence!  But 
now  it  was  Minnie  who  was  in  the  wrong.  Surely,  surely  Minnie 
was  in  the  wrong.  And  yet,  as  she  groped  freely  among  the 
facts,  she  began  to  wonder  why  it  was  Minnie  did  not  behave 
as  a  prodigal  daughter  should.     She  did  nothing  of  the  kind. 


320  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

She  sat  there  with  her  nice  clothes,  her  carefully  manicured  nails, 
her  pale  delicate  face,  and  exhaling  a  perfume  that  filled  the 
room  and  added  to  her  mother's  dismay.  There  was  nothing  in 
her  attitude  to  indicate  contrition  or  even  maidenly  alarm  at  her 
approaching  nuptials.  And  here  she  was  calmly  suggesting  that 
her  mother  would  translate  herself  from  her  lowly  casual  con- 
dition and  come  and  live  with  her.  As  in  a  dream  she  heard  the 
clear  voice  expounding  a  philosophy  from  which  she  shrank. 
"  What  good  has  Uncle  George  done  you,  anyhow,  mother  ? 
An  honest  living !  And  he  our  uncle !  He  ought  to  be  ashamed 
of  himself.  He  sends  his  own  wife  to  Bournemouth  and  gives 
you  an  office-cleaning  job.  ...  I  don't  care.  You  tell  me  I've 
cut  myself  off  from  you.  That's  all  rubbish.  I  simply  went 
my  own  way  to  make  a  living  without  asking  help  from  Uncle 
George  or  anybody  else.  I've  done  it,  too,  and  how  much  worse 
am  I  than  many  a  married  woman  who  hasn't  any  excuse?  A 
lot  I  care  for  what  they  think.  A  woman  like  Marie  Letellier  is 
worth  fifty  of  them.  So  am  I  for  that  matter.  I  must  say 
you're  very  hard  to  satisfy,  mother.  I  sent  you  money,  and 
you  sent  it  back.  That's  your  own  affair.  Now  I  come  and 
offer  you  a  home  independent  of  Uncle  George  and  his  crew, 
and  you  tell  me  I'm  not  respectable.  H'm!  You're  as  bad 
as  the  man  I'm  going  to  marry.  His  relations  have  had  him 
under  their  thumb  all  his  life." 

And  then  Mrs.  Gooderich  had  tried  to  tell  her  daughter  of 
that  early  time,  that  terrible  time  when  she  had  gone  home  in 
shame  and  silence  to  bear  a  nameless  child,  but  she  had  failed, 
had  wandered  away  into  other  matters,  so  that  Minnie  had 
lost  patience  and  said:  "Mother,  listen.  I've  got  my  own 
reason  for  not  telling  you  who  it  is  I'm  going  to  marry.  The 
reason  is  I've  learned  to  make  quite  sure  of  things  before  I 
count  on  them.  For  some  time  back  I've  been  with  Marie 
Letellier,  and  I've  been  earning  my  living  sewing.  I'm  not 
much  use  at  that,  never  was,  and  I  can  only  just  manage  it. 
I've  done  that  because  —  well,  because  he  asked  me  to.  I  don't 
quite  know  how  to  explain  why  I  like  him,  but  I  do.  He's 
genuine,  as  far  as  his  relations  let  him.  He  —  he  gave  his  own 
name  and  address,  and  I  didn't.  But  when  I'm  married  he's 
going  to  give  me  half-pay  to  keep  house  with,  and  that's  twelve 
pounds  a  month.  And  as  he'll  be  away  a  good  deal,  I  want 
you   to   live   with   me.     I    can   tell   you   this:   he's   in   a   good 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  321 

profession,  and  he  wouldn't  touch  a  builder  with  his  umbrella." 

"It's  not ?"  Mrs.  Gooderich  had  begun. 

"  No,  it's  not,"  Minnie  had  replied.  "  He  went  a  long  time 
ago.  He's  Sir  Anthony  now.  Don't  talk  about  him.  We  went 
our  own  ways." 

And  then  Hannibal  had  come  in  with  his  bomb  and  exploded 
it  among  them.     He  was  going  to  sea  and  was  sailing  to-morrow. 

"  The  Caryatid  you  said?  "  Minnie  had  asked.     "  How  funny." 

And  then  he  had  gone  on  to  tell  her  how  he  had  seen  the 
chief  and  got  the  job,  how  his  room-mate,  a  sailor  boy,  had 
shown  him  round  and  offered  to  help  him  get  some  dunnage. 
And  he  was  going  to  meet  him  at  seven  o'clock  at  Aldgate,  and 
would  have  to  hurry  with  his  tea.  The  word  tea  had  roused 
his  mother.  That  was  a  side  of  his  character  to  which  she  could 
always  respond.  And  how  curiously  commonplace  had  been 
his  parting  with  his  sister.  He  had  seized  his  cap  and  turned  to 
her  irresolutely,  and  she  had  nodded  over  her  teacup  and  said, 
"  Be  a  good  boy  on  the  Caryatid,  Hanny."  And  he  had  gone 
out  and  hurried  to  Aldgate  to  meet  his  new  chum,  who  took 
him  to  a  shop  where  he  had  ordered  a  blanket  and  a  bolster  and 
a  sailor's  bag.  He  had  been  so  full  of  his  own  affairs  he  had 
almost  forgotten  Minnie  by  the  time  he  had  got  back  to  Jubilee 
Street  once  again.  His  mother,  her  face  grey  in  the  lamplight, 
had  confronted  him.  Amelia  had  been,  Amelia  with  thin  lips 
and  a  bright  spot  in  each  cheek,  Amelia  refusing  to  sit  down, 
so  that  her  cousin  Minnie  had  been  able  to  sit  with  her  back  to 
the  light  and  look  her  over  at  her  leisure.  Mrs.  Gooderich's 
insulation  had  almost  broken  down  altogether,  so  tense  had 
been   the   encounter.     She   had    wrung   her   hands   and   blamed 

herself,  to  which  Amelia  would  not  agree.     But !     She  had 

gone  again,  coldly,  had  promised  to  write,  but  it  was  all  over. 
Mrs.  Gooderich  was  sure  she  need  never  look  to  Kennington 
again. 

And  Minnie's  cool,  clear  enunciation  had  cut  into  her  be- 
wailing like  a  sword  through  flesh.  "  Can't  you  see,  mother, 
they  only  want  to  make  a  convenience  of  you?  I  suppose 
Hanny 's  been  working  for  her  for  half  the  wages  of  a  stranger. 
Engaged?  Rubbish!  What  if  they  have  been  walking  out? 
Mother,  you're  a  hopeless  fossil.  Girls  get  engaged  three  times 
a  month  nowadays.  It  gives  them  a  thrill,  silly  fools.  Engage- 
ment's nothing." 


S22  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

"  But  she  feels  it !  "  Mrs.  Gooderich  had  protested. 

M  I  daresay.  Gave  her  a  nasty  jolt,  finding  out  all  of  a  sud- 
den he'd  slipped."  And  then  seeing  the  spasm  in  her  mother's 
face  she  had  relented:  "Well,  anyway,  I  believe  Hanny'll  do 
better  if  he  starts  out  on  his  own  like  this  than  sticking  to  the 
Browns.  Good  Lord,  mother,  he  isn't  going  to  commit  mur- 
der!" 

"  It's  a  wild  life,"  his  mother  had  whimpered. 

"  Oh,  it  is,  is  it  ?  I  could  tell  you  something  about  it  if  I 
liked.  Mother,  I'm  going  to  marry  a  sea-captain.  There! 
Now  are  you  satisfied?     That's  why  he's  to  be  away  so  much." 

The  mother's  universe  had  been  tottering  for  some  time,  and 
then  it  nearly  capsized.  She  had  thanked  God  with  many 
tears  that  a  working  man  had  deigned  to  marry  her  and  give  her 
a  name,  and  yet  here  was  Minnie  triumphantly  closing  her  career 
of  shame  by  wedding  a  professional  man. 

"And  you  want  me  to  live  with  you?"  she  had  queried, 
after  Amelia  had  faded  away. 

"  After  we  are  married,  and  you  shall  have  the  certificate  if 
you  like,"  said  Minnie  emphatically.  "  I  don't  know  whether 
you  will  understand  me,  but  if  there's  one  thing  I  hate  more 
than  being  suspected  of  something  I  haven't  done,  it's  being 
forgiven  for  something  I  have  done.  So  don't  let's  have  any 
fuss.  The  ship  is  going  to  Swansea,  and  if  we  can't  get  married 
to-morrow,  he'll  come  back  next  week  from  Swansea.  That's 
why  I'm  not  anxious  to  blab.  He  may  be  drowned,  he  may  be 
killed  in  a  railway  accident,  he  may  drop  dead,  he  may  change 
his  mind  and  I'll  never  see  him  again.  You  can't  tell  you've 
got  a  man  until  the  papers  are  signed.  I've  seen  too  much  of 
woman's  sweet  trusting  nature  and  man's  noble  habits  to  have 
any  illusions  about  them ! " 

"  You'd  never  listen  to  anythin'  I  was  to  say,"  Mrs.  Goode- 
rich had  remarked  forlornly,  and  the  exquisitely  dressed  creature 
had  risen  and  come  over  to  her.  "  There's  no  need  to  worry 
over  that,  mother.  I've  learned  a  good  deal  in  the  last  three 
or  four  years,  and  if  I  can't  take  care  of  myself,  I'm  sure 
you  won't  be  able  to  help  me.  I  suppose  " —  here  Minnie  had 
laughed — "I  suppose  you  think  because  I'm  well  dressed  and 
use  scent  I'm  a  helpless  sort  of  woman.  Think,  mother,  think. 
I  may  be  a  rogue,  I  may  be  a  fool;  I  can't  be  both.  I'm  not  a 
fool  for  making  you  this  offer,  am  I?     I  do  it  because  you  are 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  323 

my  mother,  however  much  we  differ,  because  you  ought  to  rest 
now,  and,  most  of  all,  because  I  hate  the  Browns  and  want  you 
to  be  quit  of  them.  Mother,  do!  Do  the  same  as  Hanny  has 
done.  Don't  go  to  these  offices  any  more.  Just  don't  go.  Let 
Uncle  George  explain  it  as  he  likes  and  be  damned  to  him!" 
In  her  excitement,  all  the  more  terrible  because  it  was  so  rare, 
she  had  clutched  her  mother's  shoulder,  and  her  mother  had 
flinched  from  the  pain  of  ft.  And  then  recovering  herself, 
powdering  her  face  in  a  little  mirror  drawn  from  her  bag,  she 
had  smiled  again  and  kissed  her  mother. 

"  I'll  let  you  know  as  soon  as  I  can,"  she  had  said,  and  so  had 
gone  into  the  night,  firing  the  respectable  curiosity  of  the  Bo- 
hemian family  behind  their  curtains. 

It  had  certainly  cleared  the  air,  for  when  Hannibal  returned 
his  mother  had  made  up  her  mind  to  do  something.  It  was  as 
though  the  chambers  of  her  mind  had  been  swept  by  a  mighty 
rushing  wind  which  had  cleared  out  the  accumulated  detritus 
of  the  years,  and  left  her  wan  and  reluctantly  sane.  It  was  not 
in  her  nature  to  do  what  Minnie  had  urged:  to  drop  her  brother- 
in-law  and  his  employment.  She  would  have  to  retire  by  easy 
stages.  But  to  have  inured  her  mind  to  two  such  revolutionary 
ideas  in  one  evening,  to  desert  Mr.  Brown  and  permit  Hanny  to 
go  to  sea  —  no  wonder  her  face  was  grey  and  drawn  when  Hanny 
returned  to  supper. 

He  had  had  a  momentary  panic,  he  remembered,  when  he 
had  learned  that  Amelia  had  put  in  an  appearance.  But  his 
mother's  news  that  Minnie  was  going  to  marry  a  sea-captain 
drove  out  all  thought  of  the  Brown  family.  That  was  very 
curious  indeed.  Fancy  Minnie  doing  that.  But  even  Minnie, 
dominant  as  she  was,  did  not  hold  him  long.  He  was  hungry, 
he  had  made  a  new  chum,  he  was  to  be  on  board  the  ship  at 
five  o'clock  the  next  morning.  A  youth  of  eighteen  recks  little 
of  his  sister's  affairs  in  such  circumstances. 

"Five  o'clock!"  Mrs.  Gooderich  had  echoed  blankly.  "I'll 
never  get  you  up  before  six."  But  she  had  forgotten  that  the 
tense  excitement  of  the  adventure  would  keep  him  floating  on 
the  very  edge  of  slumber  all  night,  and  indeed  he  was  on  his 
feet  soon  after  three  that  morning,  padding  round  in  his  bare 
feet  and  knocking  dishes  over  in  his  nervous  anxiety  to  save  her 
trouble.  She  asked  him  when  he  was  coming  back,  having 
years  of  separation  in  her  mind;  and  when  he  said  he  didn't 


324  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

know,  as  the  ship  had  no  orders  yet,  she  looked  grave  and 
piteously  lonely  in  the  twilight  of  the  passage.  So  he  remem- 
bered her  now  as  he  sat  in  his  berth  listening  to  the  thud  of  the 
engines  and  the  boots  clouting  on  the  deck  over  his  head,  a 
grey-faced  old  woman  in  a  yellow  flannel  wrapper  with  her 
hands  on  his  breast.  He  remembered  with  a  feeling  of  almost 
uneasy  shame  how  he  had  towered  over  her,  his  bundle  of 
clothes  in  his  hand,  how,  when  he  had  gone  out  and  closed  the 
gate,  he  had  looked  back  and  seen  her  peering  from  behind  the 
door,  a  bewildered  pathetic  figure. 

And  then  it  had  been  a  strenuous  day  indeed.  He  had 
reached  the  dock  all  right  and  got  aboard,  and  Tommy,  his 
new  chum,  had  shown  him  where  to  get  the  things  he  needed. 
The  cook  had  to  be  placated,  an  irascible  man  of  brutally  frank 
utterance  and  having  an  aversion  to  "  new-starters  "  generally. 
But  eventually  Hannibal  had  made  coffee  and  toast. and  carried 
it  down  into  the  engine-room  safely.  That  had  been  an  ex- 
perience !  The  interminable  iron  ladders  which  had  to  be  negoti- 
ated with  one  hand  on  the  polished  oily  rail,  the  hot  oppressive 
atmosphere,  the  smell  of  oil  and  steam,  the  sound  of  water  drop- 
ping somewhere  far  below,  the  occasional  hiss  and  spit  of  a 
blowing  steam-pipe,  the  shimmer  of  brass,  the  half-revealed 
glory  of  shining  steel,  the  purr  of  the  little  dynamo,  the  lazy 
flutter  of  the  forced-draught- fan  —  all  these  things  smote  his 
senses  and  filled  him  with  a  sort  of  solemn  delight.  This  was 
indeed  what  he  desired.  This  was  worth  while.  And  down 
there,  too,  he  had  encountered  the  man  whom  he  understood  to 
be  his  boss,  the  Second  Engineer,  a  spare,  wiry  young  man  whose 
hair  was  greying  at  the  temples,  and  whose  eyes  had  crows  feet 
in  the  corners.  He  came  abruptly  round  from  behind  the  en- 
gines, his  singlet  stained  and  splotched  with  black  oil,  which  can 
no  more  be  washed  out  than  printers'  ink,  his  greasy  peaked 
cap  stuck  on  one  corner  of  his  determined-looking  head,  and  a 
cigarette  in  his  mouth.  "  Ain't  it  'ot  'ere  ?  "  Hannibal  had  re- 
marked, looking  in  awe  at  the  great  silent  engines.  And  the 
Second  Engineer,  after  glancing  at  the  thermometer,  an  instru- 
ment of  softly  glowing  copper,  had  looked  at  Hannibal  over  the 
edge  of  the  mug  without  speaking.  He  was  not  a  man  of  many 
words,  having  to  deal  with  so  many  crises  where  words  are  of  no 
avail,  and  he  could  not  express  his  opinion  of  a  youth  who,  at 
five-thirty  in  the  morning,  thought  a  temperature  of  a  hundred 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  825 

degrees  anything  extraordinary.  After  a  sup  and  a  bite  at  the 
toast  he  had  set  them  down  and  disappeared  again,  and  Hannibal 
heard  a  clean  hard  burst  of  steam,  a  choking  splutter  and  a  sudden 
jar  as  of  something  brought  up  standing,  and  then,  as  though 
that  something  had  experienced  a  prodigious  relief,  a  sigh,  fol- 
lowed by  a  regular  throb.  How  interesting  it  was!  He  turned 
and  watched  the  shining  little  engine  that  drove  the  dynamo, 
and  saw  the  blue  fire  that  snapped  now  and  again  from  the 
brushes.  This  was  indeed  the  heart  of  things.  And  then  the 
Second  Engineer  reappeared,  summoned  by  the  whir  of  the 
telephone-bell,  and  he  spoke  in  a  low  voice  to  someone  above: 
"  She's  just  on  the  sixty-mark  now,  sir.  .  .  .  All  right,  sir.  .  .  . 
It's  eased  back  quarter  turn,  sir.  .  .  .  All  right,  sir.  Just  begun 
circulation.  .  .  .  Quite  cold,  sir.  .  .  .  L.P.'s  warmin',  though. 
.  .  .  Yes.  .  .  .  All  right,  sir."  And  he  had  hung  up  the  re- 
ceiver, and  seeing  Hannibal  staring  at  the  engines,  had  pointed 
with  his  thumb  to  the  ladder,  a  gesture  of  enormous  expressive- 
ness, and  Hannibal  had  taken  the  hint. 

And  then  had  come  trials  and  difficulties,  the  inevitable  trials 
and  difficulties  of  those  unaccustomed  to  the  ways  of  ships. 
He  felt  now  that  he  would  never  have  got  through  if  it  had 
not  been  for  Tommy,  who  told  him  how  tilings  were  done. 
But  Tommy  was  out  on  deck  pulling  ropes,  working  the  winch 
(he  called  it  "  vorkin'  the  vinch"),  running  hither  and  thither 
at  the  bidding  of  a  tall  strong  man,  the  Bosun,  doing  an 
amount  of  work  out  of  all  proportion  to  his  size.  Tommy 
could  not  spare  the  time  to  go  everywhere  with  him,  and  so 
Hannibal  had  made  numerous  mistakes,  such,  for  example,  as 
asking  the  Chief  where  the  sugar  was  kept,  and  enquiring  of  the 
cook  the  whereabouts  of  the  tablecloth.  He  even  committed  the 
unpardonable  crime  of  opening  the  Third  Mate's  door  (quite  by 
mistake,  they  were  so  alike,  those  doors),  and  inadvertently 
arousing  a  young  man  who  had  been  ejected  from  Frascati's  at 
twelve-thirty  a.  m.  But  in  spite  of  these  troubles,  Hannibal 
felt  that  he  was  learning,  and  having  taken  off  his  coat  and 
"  started  in  "  in  earnest  in  the  mess-room,  turning  out  all  the 
"  gear,"  he  found  little  difficulty  in  getting  the  breakfast.  And 
then,  when  that  was  over,  the  dishes  washed,  the  cloth  shaken 
and  folded  up,  the  tapestry  cover  spread  over  the  table,  he 
had  found  time  to  pause  and  draw  breath.  After  all,  he  had 
not  done  so  badly.     The  four  engineers  had  filed  in  and  seated 


326  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

themselves  without  comment.  Hannibal  had  looked  at  them 
curiously,  from  the  taciturn  Chief  who  ate  nothing,  down  to 
the  grimy-faced  Fourth  who  ate  everything  he  could  reach. 
Only  the  Second  carried  on  a  low  monologue  which  was  intended 
for  the  Chief,  who  replied  by  nods.  The  Third,  who  seemed 
to  suspect  the  Fourth  of  a  tendency  to  hilarity,  fixed  a  glassy 
eye  upon  the  new  mess-room  steward  and  made  him  extremely  un- 
comfortable. Hannibal  hardly  knew  whether  to  out-stare  him 
or  turn  away.  The  Chief  had  a  fashion  of  pointing  silently  for 
anything  he  wanted,  which  was  rather  disconcerting,  but  it  was  a 
glorious  change  from  "  nagging."  Another  thing  that  recon- 
ciled him  was  the  prodigious  quantity  of  food  left  over.  A 
great  dish  of  rump  steak  and  onions  swimming  in  gravy,  a  plate 
of  liver  and  bacon,  potatoes,  jam,  marmalade,  and  coffee.  Evi- 
dently he  would  not  starve.  And  then,  when  he  had  washed  up, 
it  occurred  to  him  to  go  through  the  cupboard  from  which  such  an 
astonishing  stench  arose.  He  pulled  out  numerous  tin  boxes  con- 
taining fragments  of  bygone  loaves  of  bread,  a  piece  of  cheese 
rivalling  the  Stone  Age  in  antiquity,  a  pot  of  jam  turning  rapidly 
into  cockroaches,  some  oval  cabin  biscuits,  a  pot  of  marmalade 
turning  into  sugar,  and  various  vessels  which  had  at  one  time 
held  chutney,  pickled  onions,  sardines,  ketchup,  and  mustard. 
The  whole  of  this  collection  was  alive  with  an  army  of  insects 
varying  in  size  from  the  huge  brown  cockroach  to  the  diminutive 
black  objects  with  many  legs  and  enormous  antennae,  with  which 
they  appeared  to  be  signalling  in  semaphore  fashion  to  unseen 
battalions  in  the  interstices  of  the  fabric.  Hannibal  was  not 
quite  unacquainted  with  these  uncertificated  members  of  the 
ship's  company,  but  he  was  somewhat  amazed  by  the  number  of 
them.  There  seemed  to  be  an  illimitable  supply,  for  no  slaughter 
ever  sufficed.  So  he  carefully  emptied  the  tins,  swept  the  cheese, 
the  crusts,  the  dirt,  and  the  empties  into  his  dust-pan,  and  threw 
them  on  the  ash-heap  on  the  bridge-deck.  He  had  found  a 
dirty  white  jacket  with  silver  buttons  such  as  the  cabin  stewards 
wore,  buttons  with  the  curious  zigzag  figure  which  appeared  on 
the  funnel,  on  the  house-flag  at  the  masthead,  on  some  of  the 
crockery,  and  on  the  badges  which  the  mates  and  engineers  wore 
on  their  caps.  It  was  the  Greek  letter  K  and  it  was  what  Hanni- 
bal, in  his  ignorance,  called  the  "  Trade  mark  of  the  Firm." 

But  now  it  was  evening,  the  toil  and  excitement  was  over  for 
a  time,  and  he  could  think  about  it  all  in  peace.     He  looked 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  327 

round  his  berth  and  felt  that  he  would  do  very  well  there. 
In  the  next  room  were  two  apprentices,  young  men  about  his 
own  age,  who  were  now  on  deck  with  the  others  carrying  out 
the  orders  of  the  gigantic  Bosun  and  the  Chief  Mate,  who  was 
always  whistling  for  someone  to  run  up  and  down  and  do  some- 
thing that  had  been  forgotten.  Once  Hannibal  had  caught 
sight  of  Captain  Briscoe  walking  to  and  fro  on  the  bridge,  had 
seen  him  pull  the  lanyard  that  ran  to  the  great  bronze  whistle 
on  the  funnel  and  blow  an  ear-splitting  blast.  This  was  to 
warn  the  ferry-boat  at  Woolwich.  Hannibal  had  leaned  over 
the  side  of  the  boat  and  watched  the  tiny  people  waving  on  the 
ferry,  and  the  sight  made  him  realise  what  he  had  done.  He 
was  a  seafaring  man  now,  one  of  a  class  apart.  Those  people 
on  the  ferry  were  Browns,  tiny  respectable  home-staying  Browns, 
builders  and  shopkeepers.  How  distant  they  all  seemed,  as  he 
watched  the  ferry  slide  sideways  to  the  pier! 

He  busied  himself  putting  his  gear  straight,  though  he  had 
not  brought  a  great  deal.  Tommy,  the  omniscient  Tommy,  had 
advised  him  to  buy  all  he  wanted  in  Swansea,  whither  they  were 
going  to  load.  The  previous  mess-room  steward  had  been  what 
Tommy  called  "  a  dirty  feller,"  but  his  "  donkey's  breakfast,"  the 
straw  mattress  in  a  case  of  sacking,  seemed  all  right,  and  Hanni- 
bal spread  his  blue  blanket  over  it  and  settled  the  pink  flannel 
bolster  in  place.  Then  he  stowed  all  his  clothes  away  in  the 
drawer.  Tommy  slept  in  the  top  bunk,  and  Hannibal  noted  how 
"  tidy  "  he  kept  everything  belonging  to  him.  That  was  Tommy's 
mania,  "  tidiness."  Hannibal  was  looking  at  the  little  photos  on 
the  bulkhead  when  he  came  in  with  his  kid  of  hash  and  a  tin  of 
tea. 

"  Ullo,  how's  things?  "  he  asked  cheerily,  and  slipped  off  his 
sea-boots,  which  were  all  wet  with  washing  down  the  bridge- 
deck. 

"Pretty  fair,"  smiled  Hannibal.     "You  finished?" 

"No.  I  go  to  the  veel  at  eight  bells,"  replied  Tommy,  taking 
a  knife  and  fork  from  a  drawer,  and  seeing  a  puzzled  look  on 
his  new  chum's  face,  he  went  on:  "  You  don't  know  de  bells,  I 
a'pose?  It's  one  bell  in  de  dog  vatch  now.  Quarter  to  eight's 
one  bell  too.  Eight  o'clock's  eight  bells,  so's  twelve  and  four. 
I'll  show  you.     Hain't  you  bin  to  sea  before?  " 

Hannibal  shook  his  head. 

"  I  bin  to  sea  two  —  nearly  three  years  now." 


828  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

"You?     'Ow  old  are  you,  then?" 

"  Fifteen  and  a  'alf." 

Hannibal  looked  at  the  round  rosy  face  and  clear  sea-blue 
eyes  in  astonishment. 

"  You  been  all  round  then  ?  "  And  Tommy,  his  mouth  full  of 
hash,  nodded. 

"  You  ain't  English,  are  you  ?  "     And  Tommy  shook  his  head. 

"  Amsterdammer,"  he  said.     "  Don't  you  like  Dutchmen?  " 

"  I  never  seen  one  before,"  Hannibal  confessed.  "  I've  been 
in  London  all  me  life,"  and  he  tried  to  imagine  how  life  looked 
to  this  little  seafarer  who  toiled  so  cheerfully  in  foreign  ships 
and  spoke  a  foreign  tongue  so  well.  "  D'you  speak  Dutch?" 
he  asked  in  wonder.     Tommy  nodded. 

"  And  German  and  Flemish  too.  I  vorked  as  mess-room  on  a 
German  ship  three  months,"  he  said.  "  Dat  was  no  no  good. 
Germans  gib  bad  grub  an'  bad  pay." 

"  What  do  you  get  here  then  ?  " 

"  Three  pounds,  like  you." 

As  time  went  on,  and  especially  after  they  had  gone  out  of 
Swansea,  Hannibal  learned  something  of  the  life  of  his  new 
chum,  Drevis  Noordhof,  of  his  childhood  in  Amsterdam,  of  how 
he  ran  away  to  sea  when  he  was  thirteen,  of  his  sufferings  on 
the  German  steamer,  so  that  he  ran  away  from  her  in  Peters- 
burg and,  getting  lost  in  the  city,  was  found  by  an  Englishman, 
who  put  him  on  a  British  ship  and  sent  him  home  again.  He 
learned  of  Tommy's  "  oppu,"  his  mother's  mother,  who  had 
brought  him  up,  for  his  mother  was  dead  and  he  had  never 
known  who  his  father  had  been.  But  the  next  day  after  they 
left  London,  when  the  Caryatid  was  below  St.  Catherine's  Point, 
she  began  to  roll,  and  Hannibal's  interest  in  life  vanished  like  the 
morning  mist. 

It  was  in  the  mess-room,  as  he  felt  round  among  his  gear 
for  the  tea-things,  that  the  cataclysm  overtook  him,  and  he 
stumbled  out  on  deck  and  over  to  the  side  in  an  agony  of  hope 
that  vomiting  might  relieve  him.  The  cook  saw  him  hanging, 
limp  and  heaving,  to  the  rail,  and  threw  a  rotten  spud  at  him 
for  luck,  but  Hannibal  was  past  being  offended.  The  bitter- 
ness of  death,  it  seemed,  was  at  hand,  and  each  choking  retch 
was  like  to  prove  his  last  gasp.  Those  who  can  experience  sea- 
sickness in  the  comfort  of  the  saloon  know  nothing  of  its  terrors. 
To  be  compelled  to  do  one's  daily  work  at  the  same  time  is  a 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  829 

different  matter.  It  is  no  jest,  until  it  is  all  over.  Weak  and 
listless,  Hannibal  tried  to  make  the  tea  and  take  it  round.  In 
the  room  occupied  by  the  Third  and  Fourth  he  saw  the  latter 
in  his  pyjamas  on  the  settee,  a  pipe  in  his  mouth,  a  couple  of 
pillows  behind  him,  reading  Sapho.  The  rolling  had  no  effect 
on  him.  Was  it  possible,  thought  Hannibal,  that  he  would  ever 
be  like  that,  be  able  to  loll  on  a  settee  and  smoke  while  the 
ship  lay  over  in  this  disgusting  manner?  The  roll  flung  him 
against  the  alley-way  stanchion  and  he  looked  down  at  the  grey- 
blue  waters  of  the  Channel  with  an  unutterable  loathing. 

As  the  day  advanced  he  grew  worse,  and  at  tea-time  he 
thought  he  was  really  going  to  die.  Only  the  callous  gibes  of 
the  others  reassured  him.  Of  course,  everybody  had  an  in- 
fallible panacea  for  the  complaint.  The  cook  said  he  ought 
to  drink  a  pint  of  salt  water  every  half-hour,  and  Hannibal 
wondered  if  the  man  were  mad  as  well  as  heartless.  The  Chief 
said  nothing  except  to  order  him  to  put  the  racks  on  the  table 
and  leave  nothing  loose.  The  Second  suggested  putting  a  finger 
down  his  throat  to  make  himself  sick  and  get  it  over;  but  Hanni- 
bal, with  tears  in  his  eyes,  answered  that  he  had  no  difficulty  in 
being  sick,  and  proved  his  words  by  rushing  to  the  side  and 
casting  his  dinner  into  the  sea.  Then  the  Carpenter,  a  tall,  hard- 
featured  man  in  enormous  sea-boots  that  reached  to  his  thighs, 
asked  him  how  a  little  fat  pork  would  suit  him,  and  the  young 
man's  face  turned  ashen-grey  with  nausea.  It  was  all  very 
tragic  and  ridiculous,  and  when  he  came  reeling  into  the  mess- 
room  with  the  potatoes  falling  out  of  the  dishes,  and  the  stew 
under  his  arm,  the  juniors  cackled  with  delight  and  the  Chief 
made  grumbling  remarks  about  the  "  ballast  run." 

It  was  dreadful  to  watch  four  men  voraciously  devouring  a 
big  meal  of  stew,  potatoes,  pork,  jam,  and  tea,  and  lighting 
pipes  of  full-strength  tobacco  afterwards.  It  seemed  inhuman, 
to  him,  struggling  with  a  bucket  of  hot  water  and  breaking  dishes 
at  every  turn.  The  fragments  slithered  about  the  floor,  and 
when  he  got  down  on  his  knees  to  look  for  them,  the  sickness 
came  on  and  he  had  to  rush  out  on  deck. 

The  sea  was  not  really  very  rough,  though  the  Caryatid 
rolled  rather  heavily  round  Land's  End,  but  a  tall  ship  in 
ballast  is  at  the  mercy  of  the  slightest  swell,  and  Hannibal 
thought  it  very  tempestuous  indeed.  It  was  good  for  him  that 
be  was  compelled  to  go  about  regularly.     If  he  had  lain  down 


330  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

as  he  wished  he  would  have  been  relieved,  like  a  passenger, 
but  he  would  have  been  all  the  longer  finding  his  sea-legs. 
The  Second  knew  this  and  kept  him  mercilessly  to  his  work. 
Hannibal  used  to  watch  the  Chief  out  on  the  after-deck  walk- 
ing to  and  fro,  sloping  his  body  as  the  ship  rolled,  his  pipe 
sticking  out  from  between  the  upturned  flaps  of  his  pilot-coat. 
The  Second  would  come  up  from  below  and  stand  near  the 
engine-room  door  talking  to  the  Chief  as  he  walked,  his  cap 
hanging  to  one  corner  of  his  head,  his  knotted  arms  all  smeared 
with  grease,  and  he  would  look  over  the  side  now  and  again  to 
see  if  the  bilge-pumps  were  working  right. 

They  were  in  the  Bristol  Channel,  coming  up  past  Lundy, 
when  Hannibal  felt  able  to  sit  down  and  light  a  cigarette  again. 
He  still  had  a  queer  subdued  feeling  of  disquietude,  but  the 
sickness  was  gone,  and  he  had  lost  the  horrible  sensation  of  his 
stomach  being  loose  inside  him.  The  natural  optimism  of  youth, 
aided  by  Tommy's  cheerful  conversation,  took  Hannibal's 
thoughts  away  from  himself  and  he  began  to  observe  once 
more.  He  revelled  in  the  immensity  of  sea  and  sky,  the  huge 
piles  of  tinted  clouds  driving  before  the  south-westerly  wind, 
billow  on  billow  of  cumulous  vapour,  through  which  the  straight 
slanting  rays  of  an  invisible  sun  poured  through  like  the  celestial 
glory  in  Italian  paintings.  He  liked  the  ceaseless  onslaught  of 
the  waves  against  the  bows,  and  he  would  watch  breathlessly  as 
the  ship  rose  and  fell,  to  see  her  plunge  just  as  a  swell  advanced, 
and  see  the  sheet  of  spray  flash  across  the  water.  And  the  per- 
petually-recurring attacks  of  the  defeated  waves  as  they  licked 
the  sides  of  the  ship  away  below,  rushing  along  the  plates,  run- 
ning up  strake  after  strake  and  vanishing  with  a  vindictive  slap 
—  this  was  a  source  of  continual  delight  to  him. 

Tommy  came  down  from  his  two-hour  trick  at  the  "  veel  " 
and  told  him  they  would  be  in  Mumble's  Roads  before  dawn, 
and  then  of  course  he  had  to  explain  what  he  meant  by  Roads, 
which  was  an  anchorage.  Hannibal  asked  him  what  sort  of 
a  place  Swansea  was,  and  Tommy  proclaimed  it  "  all  right,  all 
right." 

"  I  got  a  girl  there !  "  he  informed  Hannibal,  who  laughed. 

"You!" 

"Ah.  You  want  a  girl?  Dere's  mine,  see?  "  and  he  showed 
Hannibal  a  picture-postcard  with  a  photo  of  a  dark  young  lady 
with  one  hand  on  a  carved  table  and  a  panorama  of  tropical 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  331 

jungle  and  river  scenery  behind  her.  "  She's  got  a  sister.  You 
come  wid  me,  I'll  show  you." 

"  You  got  one  in  every  port?  "  asked  Hannibal  facetiously. 

Tommy  smiled  as  he  stripped  off  to  have  a  scrub. 

"  Girl's  all  right,  I  reckon,"  he  opined,  stretching,  and  rum- 
pling his  tow-coloured  hair.  "  This  one  here  I  like  good  an' 
plenty."  And  he  plunged  his  arms  into  the  basin  and  began  to 
wash.  His  round  little  face  came  out  dripping  suds  and  he 
reached  blindly  for  his  towel. 

"  Some  of  them  are  no  dam  good,"  he  remarked,  towelling 
vigorously.  "  One  I  had  in  Liverpool,  over  at  Bootle,  when  the 
ship  was  laid  up,  she  said  she'd  write  to  me.  She  didn't  at  all, 
and  when  I  came  back  she'd  got  anoder  feller.  I  'ad  one  in 
Glasgow  too,  and  she  did  de  same.  See?  Dat  de  worst  o'  bein' 
a  sailor-boy.     Ven  you're  away,  she  get's  anoder  feller." 

"D'you  go  out  with  'em?"  asked  Hannibal,  lying  back  lux- 
uriously on  the  settee. 

u  Sure !  Vat  else  ?  See  ?  You  get  dis  oder  girl,  de  sister, 
and  we'll  go  out  to  de  Empire,  eh  ? , 

"  I'd'now,"  he  replied.     "  I've  'ad  enough  of  'em." 

"  What  you  been  doin*  ashore  ?  "  Tommy  asked,  dragging  a 
comb  through  his  hair. 

"  In  a  shop,  a  tobacconist's,"  replied  Hannibal,  blowing  rings. 

"  Gee-whiz !  Dat  'ud  be  all  right !  Why  the  'ell  d'you  come 
to  sea,  den." 

"  I  wanted  to  'ave  a  look  around." 

"  It's  no  good,  dis  sort  o'  life,  I  reckon,"  said  Tommy,  slipping 
his  head  through  a  singlet  and  straightening  up.  "  People  ashore 
get  plenty  more  money 'n  us." 

"  Not  all  found,"  argued  Hannibal,  who  was  beginning  to  see 
things. 

"  Better  grub,  though." 

"  This  'ere  grub's  all  right.     More'n  I  can  eat." 

"  You  vait  till  we  get  to  sea.  Dis  'ere's  coastin'.  Vait  till  de 
salt  meat  start  and  de  tinned  stuff.  One  trip  we  went  from 
Shiminoseki  to  Honolulu.  No  peas,  no  spuds,  noding  but  tinned 
stuff.     You  vait!" 

And  Tommy  climbed  into  his  bunk  to  have  his  eight-to- 
twelve  sleep.  Hannibal  went  out  on  deck  to  have  a  think.  He 
could  not  quite  understand  how  Tommy  should  take  things  so 
gaily.     And  yet,  when  he  got  ashore  in  that  strange  place  whose 


332  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

lights  would  soon  be  twinkling  ahead,  would  he  not  feel  more 
free  himself?  Would  not  the  romance  of  youth  surge  in  him 
and  tempt  him  to  see  the  light  in  women's  eyes?  He  was  away 
now.  He  was,  in  the  eyes  of  the  Brown  family,  a  scapegrace, 
a  defaulter,  a  youthful  prodigal.  He  would  have  to  live  up  to 
the  character.  His  eyes  danced  as  he  thought  of  the  possibili- 
ties before  him.  Even  now,  the  voyage  scarcely  begun,  he  had 
nearly  half  a  month's  pay  in  hand, —  twenty-seven  shillings. 
Of  course,  he  would  have  to  lay  in  a  sea-stock  in  Swansea,  as 
Tommy  had  told  him;  but  even  then  he  would  have  some  money 
to  "  blow."  He  stood  with  the  wind  ruffling  his  hair,  watching 
the  light  on  Lundy  Island  dying  away  behind  them.  The  tide 
was  on  the  turn  now,  and  the  quick  thud-thud  of  the  engines 
came  up  to  him  more  faintly  now  that  they  were  in  slack  water. 
Up  on  the  bridge  dark  forms  flitted  to  and  fro,  and  every  now 
and  then  the  Mate's  whistle  shrilled  through  the  night  air  and  a 
sailor  would  hurry  aft  with  a  lantern  to  look  at  the  patent  log. 

It  was  four-thirty  in  the  morning  when  the  cook  dug  him 
in  the  ribs  and  he  rolled  out  on  the  floor,  rubbing  his  eyes. 
The  electric  bulb  glowed  in  the  ceiling,  a  towel  wrapped  round  it 
to  screen  the  light  from  penetrating  Tommy's  curtains,  where  he 
lay  in  the  profound  slumber  of  those  who  keep  the  middle- 
watch.  Hannibal  scrambled  into  his  clothes  and  hurried  out 
on  the  deck.  They  were  going  in.  Just  ahead  he  could  see 
the  deep  red  light  that  marked  the  entrance  to  the  lock-channel. 
Rubbing  his  eyes,  he  took  his  coffee-pot  to  the  galley.  The 
junior  apprentice,  a  freckled  young  man  with  a  jaw  that  receded 
into  his  thick  woollen  comforter,  was  standing  in  the  galley, 
talking  to  the  cook. 

"  Is  that  a  fact?  "  asked  the  cook,  as  Hannibal  lifted  the  dipper 
from  the  hook. 

"  The  Third  Mate  swears  blind  it  is,"  said  the  apprentice. 
"  I  heard  him  tellin'  Mr.  Brail.  Saw  the  old  man  comin'  out  of 
Frascati's  with  her  last  night  before  we  come  away.  So  he 
followed  and  ran  against  him  accident'ly  for  the  purpose.  You 
know  Mr.  Cadoxton." 

"  He's  certainly  got  the  gall,"  assented  the  cook,  searching 
among  his  utensils. 

"  Well,  he  apologised  and  all  that,  and  the  Old  Man,  who 
scarcely  knows  Cadoxton  yet  by  sight,  seeing  he  only  joined  him- 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  333 

self  last  week,  ups  and  introduces  him.  I  reckon  the  Old  Man 
was  a  bit  on,  you  know." 

"  Frascati's !  "  said  the  cook,  throwing  up  his  eyes  to  heaven 
as  though  he  had  been  a  sad  dog  there  in  the  past. 

"  Well,  the  Old  Man  ups  and  introduces  him — '  Mister  —  er,' 
and  Cadoxton  prompts  him  a  bit — '  Mister  Cadoxton,  my  future 
wife.'  And  the  Third  Mate  says  chin-chin,  and  shakes  hands 
with  her.     A  peach,  the  Third  Mate  says." 

"  And  she's  comin'  the  trip  ?  "  asked  the  cook,  passing  out 
a  great  schooner  of  coffee  to  a  fireman. 

"  So  the  Third  Mate  says.  He  says  the  Old  Man  told  'em 
at  the  Cabin  Table  he  was  goin'  up  to  London  on  business,  and 
the  Mate  said  something  about  the  Old  Man  tellin*  him  he  wouldn't 
be  back  for  several  days.     I  shouldn't  wonder." 

"  I  don't  like  women  on  the  ship,"  growled  the  cook.  "  It's 
all  sorts  of  extry  work  for  the  Steward,  and  that  means  more 
for  me  too." 

"Well,"  remarked  the  junior  apprentice,  "there  it  is.  The 
Mate  knows  more  than  he  lets  on.  We  shall  see  to-day,  very 
likely." 

Hannibal  went  out  and  made  the  coffee.  The  Chief  was 
passing  up  and  down  in  his  thick  pilot-coat,  and  said  to  him  as 
he  passed: 

"  Make  coffee  for  all,  boy.     They're  down  below." 

He  went  back  and  toasted  four  big  slices  of  bread  as  he  had 
been  told  by  the  Second.  This  time  he  saw  the  senior  apprentice 
standing  by  the  galley  door,  talking  furtively  to  those  within. 

"  I  was  talk  in'  to  Mr.  Cadoxton  just  now  when  I  left  the 
wheel,"  he  said,  "  and  he  told  me  he  could  swear  blind  he's 
seen  her  or  her  picture  somewhere.  He's  tr)'in'  to  think.  He's 
goin'  to  turn  over  his  letters.  Anyhow,  he's  sure  it's  some  time 
since  she  left  the  infant  school." 

"  He's  no  chicken,  the  Old  Man,"  remarked  the  junior  ap- 
prentice. 

"  He's  all  right.  Don't  come  interferin'  with  the  work  on 
deck.  Yes,  sir!  "  he  howled,  and  darted  away  to  where  the  Sec- 
ond Mate,  a  rotund  little  man  in  uniform,  was  standing  by  some 
ropes. 

"  Tod  always  thinks  he  gets  exclusive  information  out  of  the 
Third  Mate,"  said  the  junior  apprentice  in  some  indignation. 


334  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

"  He's  next  'im,"  said  the  cook  significantly. 

"  Not  in  this  case.  I  heard  the  Mate  say  myself,  '  Mr.  Cadox- 
ton,  you're  making  a  mistake.  Better  not  let  on  you've  seen  her 
before  if  the  Old  Man  brings  her  down.'  " 

'*  Oh,  'e  said  that,  did  'e,"  said  the  cook,  chopping  onions. 
"  'E  knows  somethin'  then." 

"  His  brother-in-law's  Second  Mate  o'  the  Torso,  this  Old 
Man's  last  command,  and  I'll  bet  my  rubber  boots  he  knows 
something.  His  brother-in-law  lives  near  the  Old  Man's  peo- 
ple." 

Hannibal  ran  out  with  his  toast,  buttered  it,  and  took  it  down 
the  engine-room  ladders  to  the  starting-platform.  The  tele- 
graph clanged  deep  and  resonant  as  he  reached  the  plates,  and 
he  saw  the  Second  throw  the  engines  into  gear  with  a  lightning 
twist  of  his  hand.  The  Fourth  was  standing  by  the  handle 
of  the  great  enamelled  dial  where  the  peremptory  finger  was 
pointing  to  "  Slow  Ahead."  The  Third  strolled  to  and  fro  on 
the  middle  grating,  feeling  here  and  there,  a  cigarette  hanging 
to  his  lower  lip,  and  a  spanner  in  his  hand.  Suddenly,  just  as 
Hannibal  set  down  the  steaming  cups  on  the  vice-bench,  the 
gong  went  again,  this  time  with  a  shrill  poignant  clangour  that 
drove  the  blood  back  to  one's  heart.  The  pointer  had  swung 
round  to  "  Full  Astern."  With  a  turn  of  his  hand  the  Second 
sent  the  reversing  engine  flying  round,  the  huge  links  of  the 
main  valve-gear  slid  over  to  position,  the  cranks  paused,  trem- 
bled, and  then  sprang  to  their  work  as  though  whipped  into 
activity  by  some  invisible  titanic  hand.  With  infinite  aplomb 
the  Third  leaned  over  the  shining  hand-rails  feeling  the  plung- 
ing masses  of  metal  as  they  flew  up  and  down;  the  Second  eyed 
the  gauges  and  beckoned  to  the  Fourth.  Hannibal  stepped  up  to 
him  as  lie  began  to  speak. 

"  Coffee,  sir?  "  said  he  above  the  rush  and  thud  of  the  engines. 

"All  right.  What  was  that  about  the  Old  Man.  Goin'  to 
get  married?"  said  the  Second,  addressing  the  Fourth  and 
spitting  into  the  high-pressure  crank-pit. 

"  The  Third  Mate's  got  a  yarn  about  meetin'  him  in  Fras- 
cati's  the  other  night,"  said  the  Fourth,  opening  a  drain-cock 
to  ease  the  water  hammer  in  the  low-pressure  cylinder.  "  Tony 
lot,  they  mates!  As  a  matter  of  fact,  I  was  in  the  cabin  this 
afternoon  askin'  the  Old  Man  about  my  half-pay  note,  and  he 
was  writin'  the  address  on  a  letter." 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  335 

"  An'  you  saw  it  ?  " 

"  Ay !  Miss  Gooderich.  He  writes  plain  enough,  you  ken. 
I  didn'  Iiave  time  to  spot  the  address.  S.  \Vr.  anyway.  That's 
London,  is  it  not?"  he  addressed  Hannibal,  who  was  standing 
witli  a  curious  look  of  amazement  on  his  face. 

"  Ah,"  he  assented  with  a  nod.     "  Sou'-wcst  that  is." 

"  And  he  put  sealin'  wax  on  the  back,"  added  the  Fourth, 
reaching  up  and  handing  the  Third  an  oil-feeder.  "  Shall  a 
book  it  ?  "  he  asked,  breaking  off,  and  when  the  Second  nodded 
he  wrote  on  the  log  board.  "  And  then  he  pushed  his  ring  on 
it  and  stamped  it.     It  was  her  all  right,  all  right." 

"An*  Cadoxton  don't  know  you  know  it?" 

*'  Xa.  He  knows  it  all,  does  Cadoxton,  him  and  his  Fras- 
cati's !  What's  a  sailor-man  doin'  to  Frascati's,  anyway? 
Gatti's  was  always  good  enough  for  me  when  I  was  in  t*  Castle 
Line." 

"  His  ma  has  means,"  sniffed  the  Second,  eyeing  the  tele- 
graph.    "Surely  we're  backing  into  Port  Talbot?" 

'  'Tis  to  swing  her,"  said  the  Fourth.  "  She's  like  a  brewer's 
lorry  to  swing.  Full  ahead,  she  is !  "  he  shouted  as  the  deep 
mellow  ahead  gong  gave  out  its  warning  note,  and  answered. 

"  He'll  be  takin'  her  the  trip,"  vociferated  the  Second,  as 
a  fireman  entered  and  signalled  expressively  for  the  fan  to  go 
faster.     The  Second  nodded. 

"  Maybe!  Easy !  Slow  ahead,"  chanted  the  Fourth,  writing 
on  the  log  board.  "  She'll  be  waitin*  of  us  in  the  Prince  o' 
Wales  Dock." 

"  Mess !  "  called  the  Second  to  Hannibal,  who  was  still  stand- 
ing trying  to  get  the  hang  of  this  tremendous  affair.  "  Do  you 
go  up  and  ask  the  Chief  to  speak  down,  will  you?     Savvy?" 

Hannibal  roused  and  nodded. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  and  he  climbed  up  toward  the  dawn. 

When  he  had  told  the  Chief,  who  ran  to  his  telephone  and 
spoke  to  the  Second,  the  Caryatid  was  safely  through  the  dock 
gates  and  she  was  being  swung  round  to  move  up  to  her  berth 
under  the  coal-tips,  huge  latticed  structures  with  pale  lights  on 
their  upper  cabins,  their  shoots  drawn  up  and  pointing  to  the 
delicate  blue  sky,  stark  emblems  of  utility  deriding  the  azure. 
All  around  were  sleeping  steamers,  their  galley  lights  winking 
in  the  twilight,  the  huddled  figures  of  night-watchmen  leaning 
over  their  bulwarks,  observing  the  new-comer  with  the  insatiable 


336  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

curiosity  of  the  sea.     A  small  boat,  loaded  with  a  hawser  and 
propelled  by  a  stern-oar,  waggled  to  tiie  dock  wall  and  made 
fast.     The  Caryatid's  forecastle-head  vibrated  with  the  working 
of  the  windlass.     With  ceaseless  industry  the  sailors  ran  to  and 
fro  on  the  decks.     At  intervals  the  hum  was  torn  by  a  short 
blast  from  the  whistle  or  the  far-off  chaffering  of  megaphones. 
Slowly,   slowly   the   tall   hull   drew   in   to   her   appointed   berth 
beneath    the   silent   tip.     The   telegraph   orders   grew   less    fre- 
quent.    With  a  thuttering  roar  the  safety  valves  lifted  and  a 
billow  of  white  steam  flew  from  the  'opper  waste-pipe  on  the 
funnel.     Now  and  again  Hannibal  saw  the  Old  Man  waving  to 
the  Second  Mate  on  the  poop,  saw  the  Third  Mate  at  the  Old 
Man's  elbow  discussing  something.     Men  appeared  on  the  quay, 
men  in  blue  uniforms,  men  in  black  coal-grimed  apparel,  men  in 
new  serge  suits.     The  red  disc  of  the  sun  rose  up  above  the 
hills   and  flooded  the  port  with  the  light  of  a  May  morning. 
Birds   sang  under   the   eaves   of  the   weighing-houses   and   flew 
across  the  railway  sidings,  and  sea-gulls,  gossiping  on  the  buoys 
or  perched  in  solitary  grandeur  on  the  trucks  of  the  sailing  ships, 
viewed  with  easy   familiarity  the  advent  of  the  Caryatid.     At 
length  the  stern  ropes  were  made  fast,  the  blue-uniformed  man 
on  the  quay  cocked  his  eye  to  the  bridge,  calculating  the  chances 
of  coomshaw  from  the  skipper,  the  gangway,  urged  by  twenty 
willing  hands,  slid  over   the  bulwarks  and  down  to  the  black 
earth,  the  drum  of  alien  heels  sounded  on  her  decks,  and  the 
bridge,  so  authoritative,  so  omnipotently  urgent  a  moment  since, 
was  silent.     She  was  no  longer  a  sentient  thing  in  the  sea,  she 
was  become  but  a  line  in  the  shipping  news,  a  factor  on  the  Ex- 
change.    There  she  had  not  even  a  name,  she  was  simply  a  semi- 
hypothetical  capacity,  "  8000  tons,  Las  Palmas,  8s.  3d.,"  a  bucket 
in  the  endless  distribution  chain  that  creeps  across  the  world. 
Hannibal,   busily   laying   the    table    for   breakfast,   wondered 
after   all   why   he   should   feel   so   excited   over   the   news   that 
had  come  to  his  ears.     He  had  already  enough  of  the  sea-habit 
to   be  pretty  sure   that  any   amount  of   relationship   made   but 
small  mark  on  the  hard  and  shining  discipline  of  the  sea.     And 
he  was  not  unmindful,  moreover,  of' Mr.  Grober's  valediction, 
to  be  master  of  himself.     Poor  old  Mr.  Grober!     Hannibal  was 
sorry  now  he  had  not  looked  in  and  taken  that  book  back.     He 
thought  of  him  now,  feebly  setting  out  his  boxes  of  rubbishy 
books,  standing  by  his  door  looking  out  with  rheumy  eyes  upon 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  337 

a  world  which,  he  said,  was  not  an  oyster  to  be  opened  but  a 
quicksand  to  be  passed.  Surely  enough  he  had  no  wings,  or  they 
had  been  pulled  out  long  ago.  He  would  sit  in  his  dusty  shop, 
his  pipe  in  his  mouth,  his  spectacles  on  his  nose,  slowly  reading 
a  dead  book,  slowly  sinking  into  the  sand.  .  .  . 

That  was  not  to  be  his  way,  Hannibal  thought  fiercely,  clatter- 
ing the  cups  and  saucers.  No  fear!  He  was  not  going  to  be 
"  sucked  in,"  as  Mr.  Grober  had  phrased  it.  As  for  this  astonish- 
ing information  which  had  come  to  him  so  fortuitously,  he  was 
going  to  be  his  own  boss  and  earn  his  living  independent,  of 
anybody.  He  knew  now,  though,  why  Minnie  had  said  "  Be 
a  good  boy  on  the  Caryatid.'*  She  knew  this!  But  what  did  it 
matter?  The  Old  Man  was  the  Old  Man  certainly,  but  he  had 
no  truck  with  the  engineers'  department.  Hannibal,  going  over 
the  matter  in  the  cool  light  of  morning,  decided  that  his  freedom 

of  soul  was  unimpaired.     If  it  had  been  the  Browns,  now ! 

But  that  was  grotesque  in  its  impossibility.  As  lie  carried  the 
porridge  in  from  the  galley  he  laughed  in  sheer  light-hearted 
conviction  that  he  had  nothing  more  to  fear  from  the  Browns, 
lie  would  do  his  day's  work  and  go  ashore,  oblivious  of  Minnies 
and  Skippers  and  Amelias,  go  with  Master  Drevis  Noordhoff* 
and  investigate,  in  impartial  spirit,  the  world,  the  flesh,  and  the 
devil.  He  Mould  have  no  more  shilly-shally,  this  piddling  game 
of  hanging  like  a  puppy  to  its  mother's  dugs.  He  would  go  out 
and  see  for  himself.  Was  he  not  a  man,  a  seaman  in  the  British 
Mercantile  Marine,  with  a  number  and  registered  rating?  Had 
he  not  come  into  direct  conflict  with  organised  government, 
looking  a  supercilious  shipping-clerk  in  the  eye  and  taking  a 
neatly-stamped  advance-note  from  the  hand  of  the  gilded  creature 
who  wrote  them  out  on  that  polished  mahogany  counter?  Had 
he  not  gone  down  into  the  depths  and  prayed  for  dissolution  in 
the  agony  of  sea-sickness?  What  were  the  petty  details  of 
domestic  life  to  him,  lord  of  himself  and  a  twelve  by  fourteen 
mess-room?  He  was  almost  hilarious  when  he  hastened  round 
to  call  the  engineers  to  breakfast. 

"What's  the  matter?  Somebody  died  an'  left  you  a  farm?" 
asked  the  Second,  mildly  surprised  at  Hannibal's  genial  face. 

"Wife  got  twins?"  enquired  the  Fourth,  looking  between  his 
legs  as  he  washed  in  a  bucket  in  the  alley-way. 

Hannibal  laughed. 

"There's  nobody  dead!"  he  laughed;  and  the  Third,  fixing 


338  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

him  with  a  glassy  stare,  a  stare  that  concealed  a  violently  roman- 
tic soul,  remarked,  "  He  must  be  in  love." 

"  He  wouldn't  grin  if  he  was  in  love,"  said  the  Second,  hunt- 
ing for  a  clean  shirt.  "  I  was  in  love  once,  and  it  was  rotten. 
Ever  been  in  love,  Tich?  " 

"  I'm  goin'  to  get  a  grip  of  her  waist  to-night,"  said  the 
Third.  "Spink!"  he  addressed  the  stooping  Fourth.  "It's 
your  night  aboard,  me  bonny  laddie,  d'ye  ken  that?" 

"  Don't  you  be  so  free  wi'  your  nights  aboard,"  growled  the 
Fourth.  "  I'm  goin'  to  ask  the  Chief  for  an  exemption,  it  bein' 
a  home  port." 

"You  in  love,  too?"  enquired  the  Second,  locking  the  door. 
"  Boys  will  be  boys !     Don't  keep  the  Chief  waiting  for  his  grub." 

At  breakfast  the  main  theme  of  conversation,  the  theme  which 
was  vibrating  in  every  department  of  the  ship,  from  the  Chief 
Mate's  berth  to  the  lazarette  where  the  cook  was  cutting  up 
joints,  overrode  the  minor  topics  of  the  casual  loves  of  the  sea. 
Even  the  dour  Chief,  nibbling  his  toast  and  sipping  his  tea,  for 
he  was  a  victim  of  dyspepsia  brought  on  by  early  carousing,  made 
sundry  disjointed  references  to  the  rumours  afloat.  Mr.  Spink, 
devastating  a  trencher  of  steak  and  onions,  contributed  his  own 
precious  tid-bit  to  the  news,  a  tid-bit  undeniably  confirming  the 
general  impression.  Hannibal  listened,  but  forbore  to  speak. 
The  knowledge  that  he  might  give  their  curiosity  a  perfectly 
unendurable  fillip  amused  him,  but  he  felt  quite  unable  to  cope 
with  the  ensuing  situation,  and  so  refrained. 

"  Mate's  got  an  idea's  somethin'  fishy  in  it,"  the  Chief  mur- 
mured, looking  into  his  tea  with  profound  distrust. 

"  Cabin  talk,  a  reckon,"  said  the  Second  with  his  mouth  full. 
"  Cadoxton  had  his  foot  on  the  rail  in  London  and  he  wants  us 
to  know  it.     D'you  reckon  she'll  be  comin'  the  trip  then,  sir?" 

The  Chief  looked  round  as  though  lost  in  an  uncongenial  maze 
of  psychological  problems.  And  in  truth  lie  was  in  no  wise 
competent  to  grapple  with  either  drama  or  romance. 

"  I  could'na  say,"  he  murmured  softly,  pointing  to  the  butter, 
and  Hannibal  moved  it  towards  him  nastily.  "  Better  let  the 
Fourth  put  a  new  rubber  in  the  deck  reducin'  valve,  eh?  I 
heard  it  pop  this  morning." 

The  Second  cast  a  sidelong  look  of  surprise  at  the  Chief, 
who  was  always  surprising  him  by  unexpected  knowledge. 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  339 

"  Aye,"  he  said,  digging  at  the  butter.  "  I'll  let  him  all  right, 
all  right." 

"  An'  the  Third  can  help  him,"  droned  the  Chief  discon- 
tentedly.    "  I'd  like  you  to  go  through  the  bunkers  this  mornin'." 

The  Third  fixed  his  eye  on  the  cruet  and  tried  to  ignore  the 
exquisite  agony  of  the  kicks  of  the  joyful  Spink. 

"Is  Mrs.  Hopkins  comin'  down  this  time?"  enquired  the 
Second,  waiving  the  bunkers  as  an  unsuitable  subject  for  the 
table.     The  Chief  nodded  and  passed  his  cup  to  Hannibal. 

"  So  a  believe,"  he  returned. 

"  I  should  a  thought  you'd  a  fetched  her  to  London." 

"  Too  far.  Didn't  care  to  ask  the  Old  Man.  Bachelor  skip- 
pers don't  carry  women  round  the  coast." 

"  The  Mate  says  his  brother-in-law's  Mate  o'  the  Torso,  where 
this  Old  Man  was,"  began  the  Fourth,  who  had  been  talking  to 
the  senior  apprentice  before  breakfast. 

"  Ay,  so  I  heard,"  commented  the  Chief  coldly,  and  so  shut 
him  up. 

"  That's  a  fact,  sir,"  urged  the  Second,  unabashed  by  the 
Fourth's  discomfiture.  "  They  both  belong  to  Shields,  you  see, 
and  from  the  yarn,  this  Old  Man  has  no  particular  objections 
to  women  on  the  ship.  Anyway,  he's  goin'  to  do  himself  in 
now." 

The  Chief  stirred  his  second  cup  of  tea  sombrely. 

"  Forget  it!  "  he  muttered.     "  You'll  get  caught  some  day." 

And  Mr.  Spink,  spreading  marmalade  with  a  liberality  that 
would  have  given  the  owners  cold  shivers,  giggled. 


XII 

FRER  of  the  numbing  paralysis  of  Billiter  Lane  and 
Jubilee  Street,  free  of  the  day's  work  on  the  ship,  Han- 
nibal selected  a  clean  collar,  brushed  his  clothes, 
lighted  a  cigarette,  and  accompanied  Master  Drevis 
Noordhoff,  ordinary  seaman  and  cheerful  optimist,  ashore.  They 
wound  their  way  along  the  dock  side,  debouched  upon  the  Port 
Tennant  Road,  crossed  the  North  Dock,  and  passing  under  the 
railway  arch  ascended  Wind  Street,  Tommy  lightening  the  way 
with  chatter  of  his  many  experiences  in  distant  lands.  Hannibal 
listened  abstractedly,  his  eyes  wandering  up  and  down,  taking 
in  the  novel  details  of  foreign  aspect.  At  the  top  in  Castle 
Square  a  crowd  were  gathered  about  a  young  lady  who  was  sing- 
ing a  hymn. 

"  Sally's  Army !  "  remarked  Hannibal,  sniffing. 

"  No  good  to  me,"  said  Tommy,  brushing  past. 

"  Where  will  you  go  when  you  die  ?  "  asked  Hannibal,  shocked 
that  one  so  young  should  be  irreligious. 

"  In  a  box,"  replied  the  boy  promptly,  and  Hannibal's  smile 
died  away.  He  thought  of  the  Little  Brown  Box  from  which 
he  had  escaped,  and  shuddered. 

"  That  ain't  the  end,"  he  protested  uneasily. 

"You  can  search  me  then!"  said  Tommy  joyously,  and  led 
the  way  along  Castle  Street,  which  was  narrow  and  populous  in 
those  days,  a  congested  artery  leading  to  the  freer  air  of  High 
Street  and  beyond.  Suddenly  the  boy  turned  into  a  sweet-shop 
and  rolled  sailorwise  up  to  the  counter.  A  fluffy,  dark-haired 
vision  rose  up  and  simpered. 

It  was  an  edifying  spectacle.  All  the  worthy  gentlemen,  from 
Cobbett  and  Ruskin  onwards,  who  have  prescribed  early  matri- 
mony, would  have  purred  with  delight  had  they  seen  that  en- 
counter among  the  candy.  Hannibal  watched  them  from  the 
entrance.  He  was  meditating  flight.  But  Tommy,  with  a  grin 
of  delight,  turned  and  beckoned  vigorously,  and  Hannibal  came 
unwillingly  to  the  front. 

"  Dis  is  my  gel,"  he  whispered.     "  Friend  o'  mine,"  he  told 

340 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  341 

the  fluffy  young  lady,  who  laid  her  head  on  one  side  and  held 
out  her  hand.     She  must  have  been  at  least  fourteen. 

M  Where's  de  sister,  Girtie.     My  friend  'e  wants  a  gel,  too." 

Hannibal  tried  to  protest,  but  he  was  too  weak.  Girtie  smiled 
gloriously  into  his  eyes  and  laid  her  head  on  the  other  side. 

"  She's  goin'  to  the  station  to  see  a  friend  of  hers.  She's 
coming  from  Cardiff  about  a  job." 

"What  time  train?"  asked  the  pertinacious  Amsterdammer. 

Girtie  looked  down  at  the  oxidised  watch  that  hung  on  her 
blouse. 

"  Seven-forty." 

"  We'll  go  and  see  her,  eh?  Then  I  come  back  for  you.  You 
finish  nine  o'clock?     You  get  my  post  card?  " 

Girtie  nodded.  She  had  a  drawer  full  of  post  cards  from 
every  conceivable  port  of  the  world.  Wherever  the  Merchant 
Service  had  penetrated,  throughout  the  Seven  Seas,  from  the 
ports  of  the  Danube  and  the  fever-ravaged  reaches  of  the 
Amazon,  came  picture  post  cards  to  Girtie.  But  she  did  not 
tell  Tommy  this.  Girtie's  success  as  a  sailor's  sweetheart  rested 
in  part  upon  her  ability  to  make  each  guileless  youth  imagine 
himself  the  one  chosen  Jason  of  the  Argosies.  It  is  not  an 
easily  classified  virtue,  this  innocent  beguilement  of  the  idle  hours 
of  wandering  souls,  but  it  implies  a  certain  talent  in  the  charmer. 
Very  few  can  do  it  successfully  year  after  year.  Miss  Bevan, 
that  amazing  genius  of  Barry  Dock,  raised  it  to  a  fine  art. 
When  she  withdrew  into  the  comparative  retirement  of  matri- 
mony, the  gaiety  of  the  nations  was  eclipsed,  she  became  a  legend, 
and  it  is  whispered  that  her  post  cards,  in  five  hundred  albums, 
are  to  be  presented  to  Lloyds.  Girtie  in  the  confectioner's  shop 
in  the  old  Castle  Street  was  but  an  humble  follower  of  the  greater 
light.  She  dealt,  after  the  manner  of  her  age.  chiefly  with  ap- 
prentices, junior  officers,  and  Tommy.  He,  at  least,  had  that 
distinction.  His  artless  audacity  had  led  him  to  ask  her  how 
«he  would  like  him  in  the  family.  She  had  replied  at  first  that 
"  she  couldn't  be  dead,"  the  Welsh  girl's  potent  phrase.  But 
Tommy  was  a  good  spender.  The  silver  for  which  he  toiled  so 
hard  on  the  Caryatid  passed  through  his  fingers  like  water  when 
he  was  with  Girtie.  And  Girtie  smiled.  Even  Third  Mates 
didn't  run  to  eighteenpenny  stalls  at  the  Empire,  and  beribboned 
boxes  of  chocolates.  Those  who  didn't  bother  to  take  her  out, 
Anyway.     Life  to  Girtie  was  a  string  on  which  boys  were  strung 


342  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

like  beads.  Some  of  them  were  blue,  some  red,  some  white.  As 
yet  there  were  none  of  Gold.  Tommy  came  sliding  through  her 
hands  at  the  bidding  of  the  freight  market  which  had  wafted 
the  Caryatid  to  Swansea,  and  being  a  maid  of  modest  imagina- 
tion she  was  content.  And  moreover,  this  solicitude  to  provide 
her  sister  with  a  boy  was  kind.  Girtie  felt  deeply  that  it  was 
not  easy  to  attach  Lilian  to  any  one.  Lilian  was  not  a  peach, 
she  was  not  a  genius,  and  she  had  bad  teeth.  Obviously  it  was 
Girtie's  duty  to  do  her  best  for  Lilian.  And  when  Tommy  pro- 
duced a  well-grown  young  man  with  the  full  liquid  brown  eye, 
so  dear  to  women,  she  smiled. 

"  Yes,  of  course,"  she  replied.  "  I  suppose  you've  had  a  gay 
time  in  London  whatever.  You  off  the  ships  ?  "  she  asked  Han- 
nibal, who  nodded  and  cleared  his  throat. 

"  It's  nearly  half-past  seven  now,"  he  said  to  Tommy,  who 
was  stealing  chocolates. 

"  Come  on  then?  Chin-chin,  Girtie,"  he  called.  "  Back  in  a 
jiffy." 

"  She's  all  right,  eh  ?  "  he  asked  Hannibal,  chewing. 

"Is  her  sister  older?"  Hannibal  wanted  to  know.  He  did 
not  care  for  very  young  creatures.  He  was  afraid  of  their 
eyes. 

M  Yes,  a  good  bit.  She's  all  right  though,"  he  added,  for 
after  all,  if  a  girl  was  eighteen  she  couldn't  help  it.  The  tone 
in  which  Tommy  uttered  his  encomium,  however,  did  not  express 
any  desire  to  deprive  Hannibal  of  Lilian's  charms.  There  are 
few  things  in  nature  more  terrible  to  the  middle-aged  than  the 
contempt  which  films  the  gaze  of  boys  and  girls  when  they  notice 
some  stiffness  of  ligature,  some  flaw  in  perception,  some  lack  of 
interest  in  life.  Tommy,  in  the  clear  healthiness  of  body  and  soul 
which  was  his  sole  heritage,  was  condescendingly  cruel  towards 
Lilian,  whose  complexion,  compared  with  his,  was  as  a  used 
blotter  to  plate-finished  Japanese  paper.  "  She  don't  work  in  a 
shop,  she  lives  at  'ome,"  he  remarked.  "  Looks  after  de  'ouse. 
And  Girtie  say,  she  goes  to  de  mission  too.  Tryin'  to  get  a  feller, 
I  s'pect." 

Even  Hannibal  was  not  entranced  by  this  information. 

'*  She's  respectable,  then  ?  "  he  surmised. 

"  Sure  thing.     Here's  de  station,  right  ahead." 

They  crossed  the  road  and  entered  the  subdued  melancholy 
that  seems  to  be  inseparable  from  a  small  terminus.     A  train 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  313 

appeared  as  they  gained  the  platform,  a  creaking  deliberate  in- 
terminable local  affair;  from  whose  opening  doors  leaped  some 
dozens  of  impatient  passengers.  Far  up  the  platform  the  two 
youths  saw  a  young  woman  in  a  large  straw  hat  scanning  the 
compartments. 

"  Der  she  is,"  said  Tommy,  pointing  and  beginning  to  hurry, 
but  Hannibal  was  staring  into  the  window  nearest  to  him.  A 
plump  young  woman  was  trying  to  open  the  door.  He  stepped 
forward  and  twisted  the  handle,  and  she  desisted,  smiling  joy- 
ously. 

"  Much  obliged/'  she  said,  jumping  out.  "I  never  can  man- 
age the  bally  things."  She  shook  herself  and  looked  round 
shrewdly.  "  I'm  expecting  a  friend  o'  mine,"  she  confided,  "  but, 
as  usual,  she's  not  here.     Oh,  there  she  is !  " 

"  We  come  up  to  meet  'er,"  said  Hannibal,  gazing  at  the  young 
woman  admiringly.     "  Is  'er  name  Lilian?  " 

"  Just  fancy !  What  a  coincidence !  I  haven't  had  the  pleas- 
ure, have  I?     I  meet  so  many  gentlemen  in  my  business." 

"  No,"  said  Hannibal,  warming  to  his  work.  "  Matter  of  fact, 
I  don't  know  your  friend  either.  My  friend  there,  'e's  goin'  to 
interduce  me.     'Er  sister  Girtie  said  she  was  up  'ere." 

"Oh,  I  see!  My  name's  Ffitt,  Eleonora  Ffitt,  and  I  don't 
care  who  knows  it.  Welsh,  and  I  don't  care  who  knows  that 
either.  What  a  life!  How  are  you,  Lilian,  darling?"  They 
kissed  vehemently,  and  Hannibal  lost  all  desire  to  win  the  affec- 
tions of  Lilian.  He  regarded  Miss  Ffitt  with  the  frank  pleasure 
so  difficult  to  recapture  in  later  years. 

"  I  was  tryin'  to  get  the  door  open  when  your  friend  —  I 
didn't  catch  your  name  —  oil,  yes,  Gooderich,  when  Mr.  Goode- 
rich  did  the  honours.  How  funny!  Like  a  novel,  isn't  it? 
Well,  Lilian,  and  how's  the  flat-iron?  You  look  as  if  you  hadn't 
been  out  for  a  month.  Isn't  it  just  a  peach  of  an  evening?" 
She  turned  beaming  to  Hannibal,  "  I  wish  I  was  young  again 
and  able  to  enjoy  it.  The  older  we  get  the  harder  we  have  to 
work.  Ah,  well,  p'raps  it  keeps  us  out  of  mischief.  You  two 
off  the  ships?  I  thought  so.  How  do  I  know?  Ah,  that's 
telling.  Get  behind  a  bar  and  you  can  give  a  lady  fortune-teller 
all  the  points  and  beat  her.  Your  friend's  on  deck,  isn't  he? 
There  you  are  again.     How  do  I  know  it,  indeed !  " 

So  she  ran  on,  this  incomparable  young  woman,  this  queen 
of  all  whom  Hannibal  l»ad  ever  met.     He  was  entranced.     This 


344  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

was  seeing  life  indeed,  to  listen  to  Miss  Ffitt's  ceaseless  stream 
of  kaleidoscopic  prattle.  If  it  be  true  that  each  one  of  us  has 
in  him  or  her  some  faint  trace  of  the  artist  temperament,  with 
but  an  infinitesimal  gift  of  expressing  it,  then  I  may  say  that 
Miss  Ffitt  expressed  herself  in  prattle.  She  was  an  artist  in 
prattle.  Her  mastery  of  the  lights  and  shades  of  conversation 
was  astounding.  She  could  stipple  away  at  some  imaginary 
portrait  of  herself  until  it  was  a  mere  mass  of  dots  without  i's, 
and  yet  you  understood  what  she  meant  perfectly.  She  could 
work  with  the  etching  needle  or  in  dry-point,  and  if  another 
customer  called  her  away  she  would  finish  the  sketch  hastily  in 
mezzotint  and  leave  you  marvelling  afresh  at  her  versatility. 
Even  after  marriage,  which  inevitably  slackens  the  speed  of  such 
vivacious  persons  as  Miss  Ffitt,  she  still  maintained  an  aston- 
ishing power  of  prattling.  Hannibal  as  he  listened  thought  he 
would  never  tire  of  it,  and  as  a  matter  of  fact,  he  never  did. 

It  was  not  very  far  from  the  station  to  Castle  Street,  but  it 
was  sufficient  for  Miss  Ffitt  to  detail  her  life-history  down  to 
the  present  moment,  and  the  account  included  a  succinct  rela- 
tion of  the  cause  of  her  coming  to  Swansea,  not,  she  intimated, 
for  her  health,  for  she  found  Swansea  relaxing,  and  Cardiff, 
though  you  might  call  it  dirty,  doubtful,  and  even  disgusting  in 
certain  phases,  was  at  any  rate  alive,  which  was  more  than  you 
could  say  for  dear  old  Abertawe  in  the  rain.  Her  comfortably 
pink  face  glowed  with  satisfaction  as  she  explained  that  a  certain 
licensed  victualler  needed  a  barmaid  and  was  prepared  to  make 
her  a  most  advantageous  offer.  This  person,  Snickery  by  name, 
was  opening  a  temperance-house  next  door  to  his  present  hostelry, 
and  being  unable  to  hold  the  license  and  the  new  establishment  as 
well,  wished  to  strike  a  bargain  with  Miss  Ffitt  concerning  the 
joint  management. 

"  He  thinks,"  she  observed,  pausing  to  scan  the  latest  family 
groups  in  a  photographer's  window,  "  that  I'm  going  to  run  his 
jam-roll  shop  for  him,  I  do  believe.  He  thinks  I'm  going  to 
wash  the  floors  and  let  him  deduct  a  halfpenny  for  every  saucer 
we  break.  And  I'm  going  to  tell  him,"  she  turned  to  Hannibal 
like  a  burst  of  sunshine,  **  I'm  going  to  tell  him  I  can't  be  dead, 
and  no  more  at  present  from  yours  truly.  Just  look  at  that 
girl's  hat,  Lilian.  It's  like  the  sky-sign  of  a  chamber  of  hor- 
rors." 

Lilian,  fearful  of  further  criticism  nearer  home,  for  Miss  Ffitt 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  345 

was  as  frank  as  she  was  good-natured,  enquired  what  house  she 
referred  to  as  kept  by  Mr.  Snickery. 

"  The  '  Stormy  Petrel/  Ryder  Street,  down  here  and  turn  to 
the  left,"  Miss  Ffitt  replied  promptly.  "  I  must  hurry,  for  I 
must   get   the   nine-fifteen   or   my   character   is   gone    for   ever. 

Aren't   you   coming?     Well,  good-bye,   Mr. 1   didn't   catch 

your  name  —  that's  it,  Noordhoff —  Irish,  isn't  it?  —  Give  my 
love  to  Girtie." 

"  I'll  go  with  you,  if  you  don't  mind,"  said  Hannibal,  getting 
pleasantly  red  in  the  cheeks. 

"  Not  at  all  a  pleasure,  I  assure  you.  Good-bye,  Lilian;  take 
care  of  the  little  boy."  She  smiled  ravishingly.  "  I'll  look  in 
before  I  go  back,  of  course." 

Lilian,  looking  over  her  shoulder  with  a  serious  look  on  her 
disdainfully  plain  face,  nodded,  and  Tommy,  who  was  familiar 
with  that  elusive  psychological  phenomenon  which  we  call 
"  fancy,"  waved  his  hand  encouragingly  to  Hannibal. 

"Isn't  he  a  cherub?"  asked  Miss  Ffitt  delightedly.  "He 
ought  to  be  in  a  creche  instead  of  walking  out  with  that  brazen 
Girtie." 

"  'F's  been  all  over  the  world  and  'e  speaks  four  languages," 
replied  Hannibal,  pushing  Miss  Ffitt  deferentially  out  of  the 
way  of  a  cyclist  as  they  crossed  over.  "  Nice  little  chap,  if  'e 
is  a  forriner." 

"  And  so  are  you,"  she  informed  him.  "  Here.  Don't  you 
know  you're  a  foreigner  in  Wales?  Englishmen  take  the  Hot 
Cross  Bun ! " 

"  Easy,"  protested  Hannibal.  "  We're  all  under  the  same  flag, 
ain't  we?  " 

"  Of  course,  I  was  only  joking.  Anyhow,  you're  from  Lon- 
don, aren't  you?  I  thought  so.  We  often  have  them  in  Cardiff, 
only  they  call  it  Cawdiff." 

"  Ever  been  there?  "  he  asked,  reluctant  to  see  her  wit  spray- 
ing over  his  native  place. 

"  Not  once.  I  was  in  Liverpool  two  years  ago.  That  was 
enough.     Wild  Wales  for  me  all  the  time." 

"  I  like  to  go  about  and  sec  places,"  he  returned. 

"  And  quite  right  too.  That's  man's  work.  Do  a  lot  of  these 
boys  good  to  be  chased  out  to  see  the  Empire.  But  men  must 
work  and  women  must  sweep.,  while  the  private  bar  is  moaning. 
Here  we  are.     The  '  Stormy  Petrel.'     Doesn't  it  look  the  part? 


346  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

Go  in  and  have  a  drink  for  the  good  of  the  house  while  I  talk 
to  Mister  Snickery.     I  shan't  be  more  than  a  minute." 

Her  neatly-shod  feet  tripped  up  the  three  steps  of  a  private 
doorway  beside  a  quiet-looking  tavern  in  a  quiet  bye  street, 
and  Hannibal,  with  mingled  feelings  of  pleasure  and  astonish- 
ment, pushed  open  a  glazed  door  marked  Private  Bar.  Several 
young  men  in  large  caps  and  refulgent  neck-wear  leaned  over 
the  bar  to  catch  the  fairy  accents  of  a  young  lady  in  pink  who 
raised  her  eyes  and  looked  at  Hannibal  as  though  he  had  in- 
sulted her.  Meekly  asking  for  a  glass  of  Scotch,  he  took  a  match 
and  lit  a  cigarette.  Slowly  the  habitues  examined  him,  and  he 
felt  uncomfortably  warm  under  their  gaze.  A  touch  of  Minnie's 
aggressiveness  under  fire  came  to  him. 

"Lost  anything?"  he  enquired,  projecting  his  jaw  towards 
his  silent  critics.  After  all,  he  reflected,  they  couldn't  do  much 
to  him.  London  wasn't  going  to  be  done  in  by  a  lot  of  Welsh 
nuts.  Somewhat  taken  aback,  they  turned  once  more  to  their 
little  glasses  of  beer  and  left  him  in  peace.  Perhaps  the  whisky 
inspired  their  respect  even  more  than  his  belligerent  attitude. 
Neither  their  heads  nor  their  means  were  yet  up  to  the  spirit 
mark.  Hannibal  diluted  it  to  a  genteel  half  and  half  and  drank 
it  down  as  quickly  as  he  could.  He  did  not  want  to  keep  Miss 
Ffitt  waiting  a  single  moment.  Avoiding  the  barmaid's  resentful 
gaze  he  went  out  again,  his  chin  in  the  air,  and  walked  up  and 
down  building  blissful  castles  in  the  air,  of  which  Miss  Ffitt  was 
the  plump  presiding  goddess.  He  was  quite  unable  to  explain  to 
himself  why  she  should  seem  so  alluring  to  him,  and  fortunately 
for  himself  he  felt  under  no  necessity  to  seek  for  such  an  expla- 
nation. Perhaps  his  sea-sickness  had  caused  him  to  throw  over- 
board the  callow  reluctances  of  early  immaturity.  His  opening 
of  that  railway  carriage-door  was  not  youthful  impudence,  but 
genuine  gallantry,  perhaps  the  first  conscious  act  of  its  kind  in 
his  life.  I  am  inclined  to  think,  however,  with  my  foolish  par- 
tiality for  the  lady,  that  Miss  Ffitt,  being  a  law  to  herself, 
revolving  in  a  hilarious  orbit  amenable  to  no  definition,  swept 
him  off  his  feet  by  the  sheer  buoyancy  of  her  personality.  She 
kept  his  fresh  resilient  mind  on  the  bounce,  whereas  Amelia  was 
continually  allowing  him  to  come  to  rest  and  then  expecting 
him  to  leap  of  his  own  volition.  As  he  walked  up  and  down 
he  laughed  continually  to  himself.  Wasn't  she  just  a  wonder? 
He  did  hope  she  was  coming  to  Swansea  right  off.     With  a 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  347 

pang  he  remembered  a  rumour  in  the  mess-room  that  the  Caryatid 
would  not  be  more  than  ten  days  in  port,  if  that.  Surely  this 
most  opportune  meeting  would  lead  to  something  more  than  a 
hasty  farewell  at  the  nine-fifteen?  As  though  to  chase  away 
this  sinister  contingency,  Miss  Ffitt  came  down  the  steps  with  a 
run  and  a  jump  and  beamed  upon  him. 

"  Sorry  to  keep  you  waiting,"  she  chirped,  shaking  her  shoulders 
in  a  way  she  had,  very  much  like  a  canary  as  he  prepares  to 
sing.  "  Here  we  are  again.  That's  over,  thank  goodness ! 
Yes,  it's  all  right.  I'm  starting  the  day  after  to-morrow,  and 
next  week  we'll  see  what  we  shall  see.  Nice  old  man,  Snickery. 
What  do  you  think?  He  says  he's  changed  his  mind,  a  thing  a 
man  has  never  done  before.  Changed  it  for  the  better  too.  He's 
going  to  run  his  temperance  place  himself  —  see  it  with  the 
whitewash  on  the  windows?  —  And  I'm  going  to  take  charge  of 
the  '  Stormy  Petrel.'  What  sort  of  angel  has  he  got  in  that 
bar?" 

"  'Aughty  blighter,"  said  Hannibal,  resentfully.  "  Looked  as 
if  she  wanted  to  bite  me." 

"  Poor  little  lamb !  Did  ums !  Now,  aren't  some  girls 
idiots?  She'll  wonder  why  she  gets  the  office.  There's  a  girl 
in  my  place  in  Cardiff,  just  the  same.  I  know  them.  Any 
one  'ud  think  a  man  came  into  a  licensed  house  just  to  get  a 
drink  with  a  scowl  at  the  back  of  it.  And  a  smile  is  just  as 
cheap." 

"  She  'ad  some  fellers  in  there,"  Hannibal  began  loftily. 

"  Wrorth  about  three  half-bitters  a  night  each.  I  know  them 
too.  And  she  thinks  she's  got  the  good  of  the  house  at  heart 
when  she  lets  them  play  the  goat  all  the  evening." 

"  You  goin'  round  to  the  other  place  now?  " 

"  Just  to  see  Girtie  dear  and  her  mother.  You  see,  this  is 
my  native.  I  was  born  at  Crwmbrla,  and  if  you  can  pronounce 
it  I'll  give  you  a  threepenny-bit  to  put  on  the  plate  on  Sunday! 
Girtie  was  a  little  thing  when  I  was  at  school.  I'd  love  to  go 
for  a  ride  round  to  the  Mumbles  this  evening.  You  ought  to  go 
out  there." 

"  With  you,"  he  ventured. 

"It  'ud  be  a  pleasure,"  she  answered  winningly.  "  I  suppose 
you'll  be  sailing  away  on  the  briny  ocean  though.  Crossing  the 
bar,  so  to  speak." 

"  Not  before  Sunday,"  he  assured  her. 


348  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

"  Lovely.  And  is  that  dear  little  boy  with  the  rosy  cheeks  on 
your  ship  ?  " 

"  We  share  a  room/'  said  Hannibal,  laughing. 

"  Well,  I  do  hope  you  tuck  him  up  at  night.  Only  suppose 
he  caught  cold." 

"  'E  can  look  after  'imself  all  right,  all  right,"  said  Hannibal. 
"  Didn't  I  tell  you  he  speaks  four  languages  and  'e's  been  at  sea 
nearly  three  years?  'E's  'andy  too.  Showed  me  my  job  when 
I  started." 

"  I  don't  know  what  the  world's  coming  to.  It's  cradle- 
robbing.  All  the  same,  I'd  rather  see  boys  go  out  like  that 
than  have  them  messing  about  at  home.  A  boy's  best  friend 
is  his  mother  when  she  boots  him  out  to  look  after  himself." 

"  That's  right,"  agreed  Hannibal.     "  To  see  the  world." 

"  And  the  Empire,"  added  Miss  Ffitt,  who  had  a  weakness 
for  the  Empire,  and  spoke  of  it  as  if  it  were  the  next  station 
beyond  the  World. 

"  Ah !  "  said  Hannibal,  and  they  turned  into  the  sweet-shop 
in  Castle  Street. 

"  Hullo,  Girtie !  Mother  in  ?  How's  business  ?  Now  don't 
you  tell  this  little  boy  any  of  your  saucy  stories,  you  young 
thing.  I'll  just  run  in  and  say  chin-chin."  And  Miss  Ffitt  ran 
round  and  disappeared  behind  the  counter. 

Tommy  appeared  to  be  getting  on  famously,  his  cheeks  full 
of  sweets  and  gaiety  in  his  eye.  Lilian  had  disappeared.  It 
was  probably  only  a  variation  of  Lilian's  usual  bad  luck,  to  lose 
a  swain.  Girtie  put  the  slightest  touch  of  distance  into  her 
reception  of  Hannibal  when  he  came  up  to  the  counter. 

"  Where  been?  "  asked  Tommy. 

"  Having  a  drink  and  waiting  for  Miss  Ffitt  ?  "  replied  Hanni- 
bal. 

"  You  goin'  wid  her,"  whispered  Tommy,  and  Hannibal  nodded, 
looking  at  his  boots. 

"  We're  goin'  to  de  Empire." 

"  All  right.     I'll  see  you  to-morrow." 

Hannibal  had  an  inspiration. 

"  Give  me  quarter  of  a  pound  of  chocolates,"  he  said  to  Girtie, 
who  smiled  upon  him  again  and  executed  the  order,  putting  a 
redundant  chocolate  into  her  own  small  red  mouth. 

"  'Ave  another,"  suggested  Hannibal,  putting  down  sixpence. 
"  'Ave  one,  Tommy  ?  " 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  S49 

Every  bone  in  Tommy's  head  was  working  already,  but  he 
made  room  for  a  lump  of  chocolate  ginger  the  size  of  a  walnut. 

"  No,"  said  Hannibal,  in  answer  to  Tommy's  gesture,  "  I 
don't  care  for  'em.  I'm  smokin',"  and  he  pocketed  the  sweets 
until  Miss  Ffitt  reappeared.  This  she  did  in  a  very  short  time. 
The  door  opened  and  out  she  came  followed  by  Girtie's  mother, 
an  amiable  dark-eyed  woman  of  fifty,  with  something  of  the 
Amelia  glance  with  which  she  swept  the  shop  and  her  customers. 
She  smiled  as  Girtie  slammed  home  the  drawer  of  the  patent  till 
and  gave  Hannibal  a  halfpenny. 

"  Well,  I  must  be  off,  Mrs.  Rees.  See  you  again  in  a  day  or 
two.  Good-bye,  Girtie  darling.  Good-bye  little  boy.  How 
these  children  eat!  Yes,  this  gentleman's  going  to  see  me  safe 
into  the  train.  High  Street's  so  dangerous  at  night.  Toodle- 
loo." 

And  they  were  outside  walking  merrily  up  towards  the  High 
Street. 

"  'Ave  a  sweet  ?  "  he  asked,  tendering  the  box  of  chocolates. 
Miss  Ffitt  gave  vent  to  a  miniature  and  strictly  private  scream  of 
delight. 

"Goodness!  You're  a  mind-reader,  Mr.  Gooderich.  Thanks. 
Won't  you?  Well,  it's  a  silly  habit  for  men."  She  munched  for 
an  instant. 

"  Don't  go  well  with  whisky,"  he  remarked  loftily. 

"  No,  I  suppose  not.  I'm  glad  you're  not  teetotal.  That's 
what's  ruining  this  country,  this  gassy  stuff  men  are  going  in 
for.  That  lager  too!"  Miss  Ffitt  selected  another  chocolate 
and  skipped  ahead  to  avoid  a  stranger. 

"  So  long  as  you  don't  go  on  the  booze,"  agreed  Hannibal. 

"Oh,  yes!  I've  no  patience  with  soakers.  A  man  who  can't 
take  it  or  leave  it  alone  isn't  a  man,  that's  all  I  can  say.  You 
said  you  lived  in  London,  didn't  you?     Any  family?" 

"  I  ain't  married,"  grinned  Hannibal. 

"Of  course,  I  know  that!     I  mean  any  brothers  and  sisters." 

Hannibal  told  her. 

"Goodness!  And  she's  been  away  for  years.  And  only  just 
goin'  to  be  married  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  much  about  it.  You  see,  she's  a  lot  older 'n 
me.  Since  the  dad  died  I  ain't  seen  much  of  'er.  I  don't  'ave 
much  use  for  relations,"  he  remarked,  throwing  away  his  ciga- 
rette. 


350  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

"Well,  I  always  say  we  don't  pick  our  relations  and  we  do 
our  friends.     I'm  that  way,  too/' 

"  I  'ope  you'll  call  me  one  of  your  frien's,"  he  said. 

"  Only  too  pleased.  You  must  come  up  to  the  '  Stormy  Petrel ' 
and  see  me." 

"  And  Sunday?  "  he  asked. 

"  Sunday  ?  Oh,  the  Mumbles !  Yes,  rather.  It'll  be  like  go- 
ing back  to  childhood's  days,"  Miss  Ffitt  said,  with  a  flicker  of 
sentiment. 

"  I  wonder  if  you  won't  'ave  too  many  old  friends  to  bother 
about  me,"  Hannibal  remarked  as  they  entered  the  station. 

"  Of  course  I  shall,  heaps  of  them,"  she  told  him.  "  And  I 
must  keep  them  all  up,  and  try  and  get  more  business.  Business 
is  business,  isn't  it?  But  if  you  like  to  be  a  very  extra-friend, 
well  —  we  do  get  on  together,  don't  we  ?  " 

"  Business  be  blowed !  "  Hannibal  growled,  opening  the  door 
of  a  third-class  carriage.  Strange  to  say,  Miss  Ffitt  smiled  at 
this  heresy. 

"  On  Sundays,  yes,"  she  replied,  and  her  quick  bright  glance 
fell  over  him  so  that  he  thrilled  from  head  to  foot.  "  But  you'll 
do  me  a  favour,  won't  you  ?  " 

"  Bet  your  life  I  will." 

"  Only  tell  the  other  men  on  your  ship  about  the  '  Stormy 
Petrel.'  You  see,  it  all  depends  on  making  a  good  start.  If 
Old  Snickery  sees  business  going  up  quick  as  soon  as  I  get  in, 
he  won't  bother  me  afterwards."     Hannibal  nodded  vigorously. 

"  And  if  they  come,  I'll  make  them  come  again.  And  an- 
other thing,  don't  be  silly  and  get  jealous,  will  you?"  He 
looked  up  into  her  eager  eyes  and  nodded  again.  The  carriage 
lights  had  not  yet  been  turned  up,  and  her  face  came  out  of 
the  gloom  clear  and  piquant.  Obeying  some  obscure  impulse, 
he  sprang  into  the  compartment  and  sat  down  by  her. 

"  Now,  don't  be  silly  —  well  I  never.  There !  There !  Let 
me  give  you  one,  little  boy." 

There  was  a  silence,  short,  sweet,  mysteriously  significant. 
A  porter  halted  at  the  end  of  the  carriage  and  moved  a  lever, 
and  the  lights  went  up.  Hannibal  jumped  out  of  the  carriage 
and  closed  the  door.  His  face  was  transfigured.  The  vague 
seriousness  with  which  he  was  wont  to  look  out  upon  the  world 
was  supplanted  by  an  expression  of  idiotic  self-satisfaction.  The 
porter,  accustomed  as  porters  are  to  such  expressions,  passed 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  351 

them  without  comment.  Strange  to  say,  Miss  Ffitt's  prattle  did 
not  run  on  as  before.  She  sat  with  her  purse  in  her  hands  and 
her  eyes  fixed  on  the  floor  in  front  of  her.  She  had  lost  con- 
fidence in  herself  for  a  moment.  Hannibal  reached  through  the 
window  and  touched  her  cheek  gently.  Slowly  her  gaze  rose 
from  the  floor  and  met  his,  searchingly,  pitifully,  clear  white  and 
blue,  and  childlike  too,  now  that  her  cheery  worldliness  had 
dropped  for  an  instant  from  her.  The  young  man  smiled  and 
took  her  plump  gloved  hand  in  his. 

"  Good-bye,"  he  said. 

"  Good-bye,  little  boy.     Be  good." 

"  To  you,  sure !  "  he  laughed.     "  Send  me  a  picture  post  card." 

"  I  don't  know  your  address." 

"  S.S.  Caryatid,  Prince  o'  Wales  Dock.  An'  tell  me  when 
you're  comin  back.     I'll  meet  the  train." 

The  guard  blew  his  whistle  and  Hannibal  stepped  back.  The 
train  moved  with  a  jerk.     He  stepped  to  the  window  again. 

"  Sunday  ?  "  he  said,  and  she  nodded,  and  the  train  moved 
out  carrying  her  into  the  darkness. 

"  I'm  on  it!  "  he  said  to  himself,  as  he  strode  down  the  street. 


XIII 

ENGROSSED  in  his  work  of  laying  the  breakfast-table 
the  next  morning,  Hannibal  did  not  hear  the  door  lead- 
ing to  the  Chief's  room  open ;  the  roar  of  the  coal  pour- 
ing from  the  up-ended  truck  into  the  empty  hold,  the 
tramp  of  feet  overhead,  the  soft  slither  of  ropes  and  hissing  of 
steam,  overpowered  all  minor  sounds.  He  turned  and  found  a 
sharp-eyed  lady  looking  him  over. 

"  Good  mornin',"  she  said.     "  Are  you  the  new  boy  ?  " 

"  Yes'm." 

She  smiled.  "  From  the  village?  "  she  asked,  and  he  grinned 
comprehendingly. 

"  That's  right,"  he  said  easily,  setting  the  cruet  straight.  And 
then  he  added,  "  Mrs,  'Opkins  ?  " 

"  That's  me,"  she  nodded,  and  looked  at  the  table. 

"  You'll  be  havin'  breakfast,  I  s'pose,"  he  said,  opening  the 
drawer  hastily  and  setting  another  knife  and  fork.  "  I'd'now 
where  the  Fourth  '11  sit,"  he  mused,  scratching  his  head. 

"  On  a  stool,"  she  informed  him  genially.  "  You've  not  been 
to  sea  before,  my  'usband  tells  me  ?  " 

In  a  few  minutes  she  had  his  story.  Deep  called  unto  deep. 
Hannibal  perceived  that  her  eyes,  though  sharp,  were  friendly. 
Her  Cockney  accent  smote  his  ear  gratefully.  His  knowledge 
of  Whitechapel  won  her  heart.  The  Steward's  bell  jangled 
above  them,  the  sound  coming  down  through  the  ventilator. 
Mr.  Hopkins,  rather  grimy  about  the  hands  and  face,  appeared 
and  pointed  upwards. 

"  Shut  it,"  he  said  laconically,  and  Hannibal  ran  out  and  up 
the  ladder  to  put  the  cowl  over  the  opening. 

Evidently  Mrs.  Hopkins  ruled  her  lord  and  his  satellites  while 
she  was  at  the  table,  though  even  she  could  not  shake  the  mel- 
ancholy from  her  husband's  soul.  The  Fourth  brought  in  a 
canvas  stool  and  sat  on  the  outer  side  of  the  table,  well  within 
the  reach  of  the  marmalade. 

"  How's  Cardiff  lookin',  Mrs.  Hopkins  ?  "  asked  the  Second. 

352 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  S5S 

"  I  was  sorry  to  leave  it,"  she  answered  simply,  passing  him 
his  steak  and  onions. 

"Hear  that,  Chief  ?  "  he  chuckled.  "The  Militia  must  be 
up." 

"  I  had  to  put  off  one  very  pressing  invitation,"  Mrs.  Hopkins 
continued,  nudging  her  husband,  who  was  looking  into  his  tea. 
"  Such  a  nice  young  man,  off  a  liner." 

"  A  liner  in  Cardiff,"  queried  the  Third,  demolishing  a  saucer 
of  pickles  which  he  ate,  American  fashion,  with  hot  meat.  "  That 
must  be  the  Black  Funnel  Line." 

"  He  wanted  me  to  elope  and  fly  with  him,"  the  lady  added, 
spreading  butter  on  her  toast.  "  He  told  me  he'd  seen  my  hus- 
band in  Singapore  with  a  Japanese  girl  on  each  knee." 

The  Fourth  giggled  and  choked  over  his  tea. 

"  I  wondered  why  he  was  ashore  so  long  that  night,"  said 
the  Second,  and  the  Chief  regarded  him  reflectively. 

"  These  married  men !  "  moaned  the  Third,  looking  round  for 
the  mustard.     "  Fancy !     One  on  each  knee." 

"  J  never  had  such  luck,"  observed  the  Second  moodily. 

"  Why  didn't  you  fly  with  him?  "  enquired  the  Chief  in  hollow 
accents,  pointing  to  the  bread. 

"  Because  the  half-pay  might  stop,  old  dear,"  his  wife  in- 
formed him,  patting  his  shoulder,  and  the  Fourth,  to  whom  half- 
pay  notes  were  as  yet  in  the  dim  and  terrible  distance,  cackled 
heartlessly.     "  What  are  you  laughin'  at,  Mr.   Spink  ?  " 

"  Capt'n  Briscoe's  goin*  to  leave  half-pay  at  home  now,"  said 
the  Second. 

"  So  I  hear.  What  sort  of  man  is  he  ?  "  Mrs.  Hopkins  asked. 
"  Mr.  Hopkins  says  he's  one  of  these  here  new-fangled  skippers, 
but  that  don't  tell  me  anything." 

"  Chief  means  he's  very  interested  in  revolutions,"  replied 
the  Third  Engineer,  looking  at  the  Chief,  whose  face  was  con- 
cealed behind  his  teacup  as  he  drained  the  contents.  "  I've  heard 
that  he's  one  of  those  hermaphrodite  curiosities  who  have  passed 
14  Mate  in  Stream.  In  case  we  should  all  suddenly  jump  over 
the  side  with  our  pockets  full  of  half-inch  bolts,  Captain  Briscoe 
is  certified  by  the  Board  of  Trade  to  go  down  below  and  take 
charge  o'  the  main  engines." 

"  Oh,  dry  up !  "  remarked  the  Chief,  and  passed  his  cup  to 
Hannibal,  who  was  listening  open-mouthed. 

"Sort  of  all-round  man?"  surmised  Mrs.  Hopkins,  who  was 


354  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

not  interested  in  technical  details.  "  Doesn't  any  one  know 
anything  about  him  or  her  ?  " 

"  I  daresay  we'll  have  all  we  want  of  her  if  he  brings  her 
down,"  the  Second  surmised,  rescuing  the  marmalade  from  the 
Fourth. 

"  That's  a  nice  thing  to  say !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Hopkins  in- 
dignantly. "  You  don't  mean  to  tell  me  you're  one  of  those  mis- 
erable wretches  who  don't  approve  of  ladies  on  the  ship?" 

"  Depends  on  the  lady,"  said  the  Second  diplomatically,  as  he 
divided  a  slice  of  bread  with  extreme  care. 

"  They  take  a  man  off  his  work,"  surmised  the  Third. 

"  Ah,  I  don't  suppose  it  needs  much  to  take  you  off  your 
work,"  retorted  the  lady,  and  the  Third,  amid  some  laughter, 
replied  that  such  was  the  fact. 

"  Second  means  he  don't  mind  old  women  like  you,"  said 
the  Chief,  looking  up.  "  It's  the  young  ones  that  play  the 
devil." 

Mrs.  Hopkins  was  speechless. 

"  Twenty-two  ain't  old,  Chief,"  sniggered  the  Second. 

"  Twenty-two  ?  Fifty-two,  more  like  it,"  said  the  Chief,  a 
pale  smile  breaking  over  his  grimed  face. 

"  Ted !     You  know  I'm  only  forty-two "  Mrs.  Hopkins 

pinched  her  husband. 

"Ah,  but  you  look  fifty-two,  Jane.  That  fast  life  you  led 
before  we  were  married "  Another  pinch  silenced  Mr.  Hop- 
kins, and  he  resumed  his  contemplation  of  his  tea. 

Hannibal  found  as  the  days  passed  that  this  was  the  usual 
tenor  of  the  conversation  when  Mrs.  Hopkins  took  her  meals 
in  the  mess-room.  Her  complete  and  contemptuous  confidence 
in  her  husband,  her  genuine  interest  in  everybody,  her  total 
lack  of  ladylike  stand-offishness,  her  genial  scepticism,  her  un- 
mistakable London  origin,  all  these  things  attracted  the  young 
man  in  the  mess-room,  and  he  became  her  willing  slave.  In  due 
time,  in  a  manner  that  is  a  secret  among  women  and  will  die  with 
them,  she  led  him  to  talk  of  his  present  life,  and  the  grotesque 
desire  to  make  money.  He,  the  refugee  from  the  Brown  Box, 
desired  money!  It  was  Mrs.  Hopkins  who  took  him  up  and 
showed  him  the  promised  land.  She  multiplied  his  three  pounds 
by  twelve,  and  the  result,  a  year's  pay  all  found,  took  his  breath 
away.  A  young  man  would  have  to  toil  all  his  life  in  a  Little 
Brown  Box  to  save  thirty-six  pounds." 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  355 

"  Of  course  he  would,"  Mrs.  Hopkins  said ;  "  and  when  you 
get  on,  you'll  have  more  than  that.  But,"  she  lifted  a  warning 
finger,  "  mind  the  foreign  ports,  my  boy." 

Hannibal  nodded.  He  supposed  so,  though  he  couldn't  be 
expected  to  know.  He  did  know  the  money  went  quick  enough 
in  Swansea.  It  was  irresistible,  but  very  expensive,  that  nightly 
visit  to  Miss  Ffitt  at  the  "  Stormy  Petrel." 

Of  course  Mrs.  Hopkins  was  interested  in  Miss  Ffitt,  for 
Mrs.  Hopkins  had  herself  been  a  barmaid  at  Plaistow  at  a  time 
when  Mr.  Hopkins  had  been  paid  off  with  two  years'  wages. 
He  had  been  rendered  abjectly  miserable  by  the  possession  of 
so  much  money,  and  had  requested  her  to  take  charge  of  them 
both.  She  believed  that  this  was  really  a  woman's  proper  des- 
tiny, to  look  after  a  man's  money  for  him  and  see  that  he  didn't 
buy  rubbish  with  it.  So  she  lived  cheerfully  in  a  little  house 
(freehold)  in  Penarth,  among  scores  of  other  sailors'  wives, 
thoroughly  satisfied  with  her  condition,  receptive  of  all  the  stories 
she  heard  about  husbands  and  sons  in  far-distant  lands,  and 
scornful  of  them  all.  Having  no  children,  she  felt  a  brusque 
and  kindly  affection  for  those  children  of  the  sea  over  whom 
her  husband  was  supposed  to  reign.  For  Hannibal  her  London 
origin  predisposed  her  in  the  favour.  The  Londoner,  though 
destitute  of  the  savage  clannishness  of  the  Scot,  Tyke,  or  Welsh, 
yet  has  a  certain  community  of  feeling.  He  likes  to  call  Lon- 
don "  the  village,"  he  accepts  meekly  the  alien's  extensive  and 
peculiar  knowledge  of  the  metropolis,  and  he  will  never  make 
you  understand  exactly  why  he  loves  London,  for  he  will  never 
make   the   attempt.     Certainly   Hannibal  never  did. 

Mrs.  Hopkins,  I  was  saying,  was  interested  in  Miss  Ffitt,  for 
she  was  an  ex-barmaid.  I  am  inclined  to  think  that  she  had 
been  a  successful  barmaid,  though  not  in  the  way  Miss  Ffitt 
or  Miss  Bevan  of  Barry  were  successful.  Mrs.  Hopkins  prob- 
ably had  to  do  with  men  of  middle-age,  men  who  would  have 
regarded  ebullient  conversation  with  pained  surprise,  men  who 
talked  over  affairs  at  little  tables,  and  went  out  with  their  wives 
on  Saturdays.  She  had  no  cash-register  in  her  bar  in  those 
days,  no  gramophone,  no  sandwiches  or  lager  beer.  Mr.  Hop- 
kins, for  example,  was  not  the  man  to  be  lured  by  fluffed  hair 
and  effervescent  chatter.  No  doubt  there  was  in  the  Penarth 
home  a  tasteful  little  presentation  clock  or  card-salver  from  her 
middle-aged  customers,  as  a  token  of  their  esteem.     Mrs.  Hop- 


356  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

kins  was  the  sort  of  woman  who  grows  a  little  more  frivolous 
as  she  grows  older.  Some  twenty  or  thirty  grey  hairs  were 
apparent  to  the  relentless  observer  on  the  top  of  her  head,  and 
the  quantity  that  came  out  occasionally  made  her  stop  and  think, 
comb  in  hand;  but  her  heart  was  very  green,  and  the  nice  lad 
with  the  brown  eyes  and  his  Miss  Ffitt  interested  her.  She 
would  stand  at  the  door  of  her  husband's  room,  when  he  was  out 
on  deck  or  down  below,  and  talk  while  Hannibal  did  his  work. 

"  Why  don't  you  do  something  with  more  money  ?  "  she  asked 
one  morning. 

"  What  else  can  I  do  ?  " 

"  You  could  go  in  the  engine-room,  couldn't  you?  " 

"  Me  ?  "  incredulously. 

"  Why  not  ?     This  isn't  man's  work." 

"Not  this?" 

"  No ;  it's  girl's  work,  washin'  dishes.  You're  strong  enough. 
You  ought  to  go  in  for  something  more  —  more  —  I  don't  know 
how  to  say  it  exactly.  You  aren't  afraid  o'  bein'  dirty,  are 
you?" 

"  I  don't  know,  Ma'am.     I  never  thought  of  it." 

"Some  men  are.  Others  seem  to  enjoy  it.  Mr.  Hopkins 
doesn't  think  he's  doin'  any  work  if  he  isn't  smothered." 

"  I  don't  see  'ow  I  can  change  now,"  Hannibal  said  doubt- 
fully.    "  The  chief  wouldn't  let  me." 

"  I'll  make  him!  "  she  said  promptly. 

Hannibal  advanced  another  step  on  his  upward  road  to  man- 
hood. He  paused  in  his  work  of  polishing  the  big  lamp  in  the 
mess-room  and  put  his  hand  on  his  hip,  looking  frankly  into 
Mrs.  Hopkins'  sharp  eyes. 

"  Why  d'you  bother  ?  "  he  demanded,  an  involuntary  gruffness 
in  his  voice. 

Mrs.  Hopkins  was  taken  a  little  aback.     Then  she  smiled. 

"  Ask  Miss  Ffitt,"  she  answered  lightly,  and  retreated  into  her 
husband's  room. 

He  did  not  do  that.  Youth-like  he  was  not  sufficiently  self- 
conscious  to  bear  such  instruction  in  mind  until  Sunday,  when 
they  merged  into  the  holiday  throng  that  spotted  the  cliff 
walks  on  the  Mumbles  or  fretted  the  evening  skyline  on  the 
pier.  And  even  had  he  asked  her,  it  is  doubtful  whether  he 
would  have  received  any  truthful  reply.  Had  she  told  him,  it 
is  probable  that  she  would  have  lost  him.     And  Eleonora  Ffitt, 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  357 

though  she  had  never  heard  of  Bernard  Shaw  and  would  not 
have  understood  him  if  she  had,  had  no  intention  of  losing 
Hannibal.  He  was  netted  more  safely  than  he  knew.  With 
woman's  cunning  she  held  back  from  him  in  the  glaring  lights 
of  the  bar  of  the  "  Stormy  Petrel,"  and  in  the  noise  and  rumour 
of  the  town,  and  waited  until  they  sat  above  the  gentle  wash 
of  the  rock-bound  shallows.  With  infinite  artistry  she  allowed 
herself  to  become  identified  in  his  dreams  with  the  harsh  cry  of 
the  gulls,  the  presence  and  murmur  of  the  sea.  He  remembered 
that  evening  always  when  away;  the  silver  hoop  of  the  moon, 
serene  across  the  shimmering  channel*  the  subdued  whispers  of 
lovers,  the  drone  of  the  music,  the  clash  of  the  tiny  waves 
round  the  solemn  wide-sweeping  lantern  on  the  reef,  the  long 
crescent  of  lighted  roadway  that  curved  with  inimitable  beauty 
into  the  mysterious  darkness  of  the  port,  the  lamp-spattered  love- 
liness of  the  encircling  hills.  Of  all  this,  in  his  memory,  she  was* 
a  part.  Her  warm  womanhood  became  inextricably  mingled 
with  that  Nature  toward  which  he  strained  with  inarticulate 
desire.  So  he  recalled  her  out  on  the  tropic  seas,  and  with  that 
evening  still  vivid  within  him,  he  worked  out  his  probation  and 
returned  to  fulfil  his  destiny,  a  casual  of  the  sea. 


XIV 

LOADED  to  her  summer  marks,  the  Caryatid,  in  the 
endless  hours  of  the  middle  watch,  lay  waiting  for  the 
tide.  It  was  that  hour  when  time  seems  to  stop  and 
the  stars,  dragging  slowly  across  the  sky,  fade  im- 
perceptibly into  that  first  faint  premonition  of  the  dawn.  On 
the  coal-littered  decks,  cumbered  with  wide-straddling  booms  and 
the  gleaming  sheets  of  thin  iron  over  which  the  coal  slides  to 
its  place,  the  silence  hung  heavily.  Now  and  again  a  restless 
sailor  came  out  of  the  dim-lighted  galley  and  hung,  listening, 
over  the  outer  side,  the  smoke  of  his  pipe  passing  like  a  spirit 
above  his  head.  Out  on  the  shiny  water  loomed  the  tall  hulls 
of  the  old  steamers  at  the  buoys.  They  lay  there  patiently 
month  by  month,  awaiting  their  turn  to  be  broken  up.  They 
had  run  their  race,  poor  casuals  of  the  sea;  with  cold  hearts  and 
sightless  portholes  they  strained  gently  at  their  moorings,  and 
their  pale  figure-heads  stared  in  blind  agony  to  the  westward, 
as  though  they  prayed  that  the  end  might  be  soon. 

The  hours  dragged  on,  and  with  infinite  deliberation  the  eastern 
sky  became  informed  with  that  awesome  pallor  that  precedes 
the  sunrise.  An  iron  door  clanged  sharply  on  the  Caryatid,  a 
rat,  creeping  craftily  along  the  plating  to  the  pump,  fled  in 
wild  terror  beneath  a  winch,  there  was  a  blaze  of  brightness  at 
the  engine-room  door,  and  once  again,  silence  and  darkness.  The 
Second,  his  pipe  blowing  great  clouds,  seated  himself  on  a  plugged 
ventilator  near  the  galley,  and  folding  his  arms,  looked  out  upon 
the  familiar  scene.  So  still  he  was  you  would  have  thought  him 
graven  in  stone,  save  for  the  dense  rolling  upward  of  the  smoke. 
In  a  few  moments  another  ghost  appeared  from  the  port  alley- 
way, a  dark,  huddled  figure  in  a  heavy  coat  of  pilot  cloth,  with 
the  cap  pulled  low  over  the  eyes,  the  collar  turned  up,  and  the 
hands  in  the  pockets.  Quietly  he  moved  across  the  deck,  now 
grey  against  the  white  galley,  now  silhouetted  against  the  glow- 
ing fire. 

"All  right?"  he  whispered  to  the  Second,  who  did  not  turn 
his  head. 

358 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  359 

"  All  right,  Chief,"  he  answered. 

"  Wing  fires  away?  " 

"  All  away,"  replied  the  Second. 

"  What's  she  carryin'  ?  " 

"  Sixty-five,"  said  the  Second,  meaning  a  hundred  and  sixty- 
five. 

"  Dampers  shut  ?  " 

"  Aye." 

There  was  a  pause.  As  they  stood  there,  a  thick-set  man  in 
a  big  woollen  muffler  came  down  from  the  bridge  deck  and  spoke. 
It  was  the  Old  Man. 

"All  ready,  Chief?" 

"  All  ready,  sir,"  said  the  Chief. 

"  Windlass?  "  the  Captain's  eyes  glittered. 

"  All  on,  sir,"  muttered  the  Second. 

"How's  things,  Cap'n?  "  whispered  the  Chief,  looking  on  the 
ground.     "All  well  at  home?  " 

The  Captain  threw  back  his  head  and  laughed. 

"Champion!"  he  said.  "Time  of  my  life.  I'll  tell  you  an- 
other time.     But "     As  he  paused  the  Second  twisted  round 

on  the  ventilator  and  looked  at  him.  Captain  Briscoe  took  out  a 
cigar  and  bit  the  end. 

"Eh?  "asked  the  Chief. 

"  Think  of  it! "  The  Master  threw  out  his  hands.  "  Think, 
man.  I  never  thought  of  it  before.  You're  a  married  man, 
Chief?     You  know.     Leavin'  the  warm  bed " 

Neither  answered  him.  The  Second  resumed  his  contempla- 
tion of  the  grey  waters.  All  the  east  was  aflame  with  rose  and 
silver.  The  dock  lights  shrank  to  pale  points  of  flickering  radi- 
ance. Heavy  boots  drummed  on  the  bridge  deck,  voices  growled 
in  the  distance,  the  noise  of  a  chain  block  flung  down  crashed 
against  their  ears,  an  avalanche  of  sound.  Another  man  sud- 
denly appeared  above  them  and  blew  a  shrill  call  on  his  whistle. 
The  world  of  men  was  awake.  The  Old  Man  lit  his  cigar  and 
pulled  himself  up  the  ladder  with  his  brown  hairy  hands.  A 
gold  signet  ring  flashed  on  the  third  finger. 

"  H'm !  "  The  Second  shifted  his  feet  and  waited  for  his 
companion  to  make  a  remark. 

"  It's  a  hell  of  a  life,"  whispered  the  Chief,  and  moved  slowly 
across  the  deck.  The  Second  wondered  if  it  was.  It  seemed  as 
though  he  were  not  alone  in  feeling  the  inexpressible  sadness  of 


360  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

the  dawn.  What  a  banal  remark!  A  hell  of  a  life!  As  if  he 
didn't  know  that.  Even  he  had  some  knowledge  of  the  tragedy 
of  the  warm  bed.  .  .  .  He  stretched,  twisted  round  so  that  he 
could  see  the  galley  clock,  and  relit  his  pipe.  He  slipped  from 
the  ventilator  and  disappeared  into  the  steering  house.  Put- 
ting his  lips  to  a  tube  he  blew,  and  a  faint  querulous  whistle 
sounded  below  in  the  engine-room.  He  looked  down  solemnly  on 
the  scene  of  his  continual  toil,  critical,  not  ill-pleased.  She  was 
a  good  old  girl !  The  Third  swung  up  the  ladders,  his  long  oily 
arms  playing  with  a  prehensile  grace  upon  the  shining  rails. 

"  What's  to  do  ?  "  he  asked,  wiping  his  face  with  his  sweat- 
rag. 

"  Coffee,"  said  the  Second.     "  What's  the  steam?  " 

"  Seventy,"  said  the  Third,  meaning  a  hundred  and  seventy. 

"  Then  she'll  blow  off,  sure  as  hell,"  said  the  Second  gloomily. 
And  he  plunged  with  the  speed  of  long  use  down  the  ladders. 
He  passed  along  the  plates,  dived  into  a  tunnel  between  the 
boilers  and  emerged  into  the  stokehold.  Two  Greeks  and  a 
German  were  sitting  under  the  ventilator. 

"  Look  at  it !  "  he  snarled,  dragging  the  fire  doors  open  and 
then  flinching  from  the  white  glare.  "  Why  don't  you  put  green 
coal  on Look  at  it !     Gimme  the  shovel." 

"  She's  all  right,  Mister  Seccon,"  clicked  a  Greek. 

"Is  she  hell?"  He  seized  a  bucket  of  water  and  drenched 
some  fine  coal,  turning  it  with  the  shovel. 

"  Put  it  on,"  he  ordered,  dropping  the  tool  and  peering  at  the 
gauges. 

Sullenly  they  obeyed  him,  and  the  German  disappeared  into 
the  bunkers.  The  Second  returned  to  the  engine-room,  looked 
at  the  water,  moved  the  throttle  of  the  dynamo  engine  a  fraction 
of  an  inch,  and  wiping  his  face,  seated  himself  on  the  vice-bench, 
and  filled  his  pipe.  It  was  a  habit  with  him  to  meditate  upon 
the  hellishness  of  his  life.  He  felt  resentful  that  a  man  like  this 
skipper,  who  had  just  got  married,  should  realise  it  so  soon. 
After  all,  why  didn't  the  man  bring  her  to  sea  with  him,  if  he 
wished  to?  What  did  skippers  know  of  the  reality  of  loneliness. 
They  were  free  to  go  as  they  pleased,  to  sleep,  to  gorge,  to  find 
fault.  There  was  the  Chief  too,  mewing  like  a  kitten  because  his 
wife  was  gone  home  to  Cardiff.  What  about  him,  Hilary  John 
Jesmond  of  Jarrow-on-Tyne,  First-class  Certificate  and  Engineer- 
Lieutenant   R.N.R.?     Well,  perhaps  he  ought  to  get  married. 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  361 

He  was  engaged  to  two  or  three  girls,  certainly,  but  marriage  was 
a  step !  He  had  arrived  afresh  at  this  conclusion,  that  marriage 
was  a  step,  when  the  Third  descended,  followed  by  the  Fourth, 
who  was  rubbing  his  eyes,  and  Hannibal,  who  looked  as  if  he 
would  like  to  rub  his,  but  was  too  occupied  with  the  coffee. 

"  What's  to  do?  "  asked  the  Third,  sipping  the  coffee.  "  The 
pilot  is  in  no  hurry." 

"  He  says,"  remarked  the  Fourth,  "  the  gate's  opening  but  he'll 
not  shift  her  for  another  half-hour.  What's  the  time  ?  Just  gone 
four.     Seems  to  me  I've  only  been  turned  in  five  minutes." 

"  You'll  die  in  your  bunk,"  commented  the  Second. 

"  I'm  sure  I  hope  so,  mister.     I  don't  want  to  die  down  here." 

"  I've  lived  down  here,"  said  the  Second  pensively,  taking  a 
large  bite  of  his  toast,  "  for  sixteen  years.  What  a  life !  Once 
I  had  ideas.  All  gone  now.  My  dungarees  are  dirty  and  God 
hates  me." 

"  I  don't  reckon  he  takes  that  much  trouble  over  sailor-men," 
muttered  the  Third,  drinking  deeply.  "Why  jouse  yourself, 
mister? "  His  drawn,  slag-grey  face  creased  into  smiles,  he 
moved  his  feet  in  a  rhythmic  rattle  on  the  polished  plates  and  be- 
gan to  sing: 

Oh  I  met  a  maid  on  Hornsey  Rise, 

And  kissed  her  on  the  lips, 
I  looked  into  her  limpid  eyes 

And  told  her  all  the  dear  old  lies, 

But  she  started  of  in  wild  surprise 

And  her  hands  went  on  her  hips, — 
Said  she,  I'm  the  wife  of  a  sailor-man 

Gone  down  to  the  sea  in  ships! 

"  Stow  it !  "  growled  the  Second.  "  Isn't  the  Johnny  Walker 
out  of  you  yet?  Hie,  boy!  what's  the  matter?  You  look  as  if 
they   were  all  dead." 

Hannibal,  leaning  against  the  hand-rail  of  the  ladder,  laughed. 
His  face  was  still  soft  and  puffed  under  the  eyes  with  sleep,  and 
dark  rings  encircled  them.  His  mouth  was  dry  and  distasteful 
from  tobacco  and  drink,  and  his  mind  muggy. 

"  I  was  only  thinkin',"  lie  said,  and  shifted  his  feet. 

"  You  shouldn't  do  that,"  warned  the  Fourth,  measuring 
his  toast  with  his  eye.  "  It  drives  men  crazy  sometimes  at 
sea." 

The  Third  pinched  the  young  man's  ear. 


362  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

"  It's  a  hell  of  a  life,  eh  ?  "  he  whispered,  and  the  Second  stirred 
in  irritation. 

"  What  do  you  know  about  it  ?  "  he  asked  in  annoyance.  The 
speaking  tube  whistle  whined,  and  he  leaned  over  and  drew  it  out. 
"Ullo,  -sir! —  Ah!  Seventy  or  thereabouts.  Half  an  hour? 
All  right,  sir.  Yes,"  he  resumed,  putting  the  whistle  into  the 
tube  again,  "  you  think  you  have  a  rotten  time,  don't  you  ? 
There's  another  up  there.  Now  what  has  he  to  worry  about? 
I'm  here.  Why  can't  he  stay  in  his  room  and  leave  me  alone? 
There's  the  skipper  too,  tellin'  me  its  a  hell  of  a  life,  just  be- 
cause he's  got  to  leave  a  nice  young  wife  at  home." 

"  You'd  grouse,  too,  if  you'd  just  got  married,"  said  the  Third, 
boring  him  with  his  eye.  "  Especially  if  she's  young.  And  all 
the  time  you're  at  sea,  thinkin'  and  thinkin'  of  the  men  round  her, 
and  you  far  away  on  the  ocean.     Wouldn't  you  ?  " 

"  Easy  to  talk,"  snapped  the  Second.  "  The  younger  you  are 
the  more  you  yap.  Here's  the  Mess.  I  daresay  he's  thinkin' 
how  hard  it  is  to  go  away,  eh  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Hannibal  simply.     "  I'm  engaged,  mister." 

"  You !  There  you  are !  "  said  the  Second  in  moody  triumph. 
"  I  told  you  so.     Silly  young  blighter.     Who  is  it  ?  " 

14  That's  —  that's  my  business,  mister,"  replied  Hannibal.  "  I 
was  only  answering  your  question.  An'  I'd  like  to  know  if  the 
Chief  said  anythin'  to  you  about  me  —  coming  down  'ere  ?  " 

"  What's  that  ? "  said  the  Fourth,  as  the  Second  shook  his 
head. 

"  I  don't  approve  of  it,"  remarked  the  Second,  finishing  his 
coffee.  "  We'll  see  later.  I  expect  some  o'  these  noble  fire- 
boys'U  slope  in  Las  Palmas.  What  d'you  want  to  change  for?  " 
he  demanded. 

"  More  money,  sir,"  said  Hannibal.  "  I  can  do  man's  work 
now." 

"  You  think  so.  Chasin'  a  coal-barrow  in  the  tween-decks  is 
very  different  from  washin'  dishes." 

"  I  know  it  is.  There's  no  reason  why  I  shouldn't  'ave  a  go  at 
it." 

"  What  you  goin'  to  do,  buy  a  farm  ?  " 

"  No.     Git  married." 

They  stared  at  him,  these  young  men,  in  awe,  as  he  collected 
the  empty  mugs.  Somehow  the  simple  statement  had  set  him 
away  beyond  them.     He  was  going  to  get  married !     The  Second 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  363 

slipped  from  his  seat,  and  went  over  to  the  gauges,  patting  the 
curved  syphon  pipes  with  his  hand.  He  returned  as  Hannibal 
put  his  foot  on  the  ladder. 

"  Forget  it !  "  he  called,  in  a  strange  voice. 

u  Not  me,"  said  Hannibal,  going  up. 

"  He's  not  plumb,"  said  the  Third,  watching  him.  "  The  ex- 
citement has  turned  his  Drain.  Spink,  why  don't  you  get  mar- 
ried?    You  look  all  right  when  your  face  is  washed." 

"  I've  tried,  often,"  said  that  young  man,  pulling  a  wad  of 
waste  from  a  bundle  in  the  store.  "  But  it's  no  use,  they  won't 
look  at  you  if  they  think  you  haven't  got  a  ticket." 

They  moved,  as  by  some  subconscious  thought  common  to  them 
all,  over  to  the  telegraph. 

"  Is  the  whistle  on,  Spink?  "  asked  the  Second. 

"  Aye,  on  stabbard  main,"  replied  the  Fourth,  and  leaned 
against  the  wheel  of  the  reversing-engine. 

14  You  know  what's  the  matter  with  us  ?  "  queried  the  Third, 
blinking.     "  We're  all  scared." 

"Scared?" 

"  Ah,  scared.  We  come  to  sea  and  get  into  the  sea-habit, 
and  then  when  we  go  ashore,  we're  like  damned  kids.  I  think 
it  must  be  the  condensed  milk  gets  into  our  blood  and  we  funk 
comin'  to  the  point.  See  that  young  feller?  He's  only  been  at 
sea  three  days  and  he  goes  up  town  and  gets  engaged.  Says  he's 
goin'  to  get  married.  You  daren't  say  that,  Jack.  Nor  you, 
Spink?" 

"  I  wish  I  was  a  rich  lady's  pet-dog,"  remarked  the  Fourth. 
The  whistle  whined,  choked,  and  then  burst  into  a  terrifying 
roar  above  them. 

"  So  do  I,  but  what's  the  use  ?  Pet-dogs  aren't  bred  on  con- 
densed milk."  The  Second  looked  up  and  saw  the  Chief  gazing 
mournfully  down  from  the  steering  house. 

"  Throw  her  over,"  he  said.  "  Spink,  open  up  and  forget  it. 
You'll  be  out  on  the  West'ard  to-morrow.  All  right,  sir !  Stand 
by!  Where's  that  greaser?  Here,  Snyder,  put  the  syphons  in. 
Right,  Spink?     Swab  the  tails,  Snyder." 

With  a  great  sigh  the  cranks  moved,  woke  up,  jerked  back- 
ward, and  came  to  rest. 

"  Condensed  milk !  "  said  the  Second  to  himself  indignantly, 
as  he  peered  round  the  engines.  "  What  does  he  know  about 
it" 


364  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

High  up  on  the  flying  bridge  Captain  Briscoe  walked  to  and 
fro,  a  proud  man.  Preoccupied  with  his  own  private  pleasure 
and  pain,  he  yet  watched  with  relentless  attention  the  manoeuvres 
of  the  ship  ahead.  She  was  the  Vechstrom,  a  slim,  long-nosed 
three-thousand-ton  freighter  from  Rotterdam.  Captain  Briscoe 
found  time  to  envy  her  commander.  With  admiring  eyes  he 
watched  her  swing  round  as  her  twin-screws  revolved,  one  against 
the  other,  churning  the  dock-water  into  cream-coloured  foam. 
And  then,  as  her  sharp  thin  nose  pointed  toward  the  open  gates, 
both  engines  went  full  ahead,  beating  the  foam  into  tumultuous 
waves,  her  whistle  blared,  and  she  was  away.  Seventeen  knots 
she  went,  that  little  clipper!  with  her  rows  of  steel  derricks,  her 
self-trimming  holds,  her  patent  rudder,  her  collapsible  lifeboats, 
and  all  the  rest  of  her.  Captain  Briscoe  gazed  sourly  at  the  tri- 
colour flag  flaunting  on  her  flush  poop.  Damn  these  Dutchmen ! 
Why  didn't  British  owners  have  modern  ships  ?  To-morrow  night 
she  would  be  safe  in  Rotterdam.  And  he  resumed  his  scrutiny 
of  the  check-ropes,  glancing  first  at  the  Chief  Mate  on  the  fore- 
castle and  then  at  the  Second  away  aft.  As  the  latter  swivelled 
his  signal  disc  from  red  to  white,  the  Old  Man  raised  his  hand. 
Mr.  Cadoxton,  natty  and  fresh-shaven,  thrust  the  telegraph 
slow  ahead.  As  the  Old  Man  passed  him  he  spoke  with  the 
seriousness  of  youth. 

"  Funny  thing,  sir !  I  was  looking  at  the  articles  last 
night,  checking  the  discharge-books,  and  I  noticed  some- 
thing." 

"Eh?" 

*'  The  mess-room  Steward,  sir.  His  name  is  a  rather  unusual 
one.     I  don't  know  whether  you  noticed  it." 

"Eh?" 

"  Gooderich,  sir." 

"  Give  her  a  kick  astern,  slow,"  said  the  Old  Man,  watching 
the  pilot's  hands.  "  Port !  You  at  the  wheel  there."  In  the 
wheel-house  behind  the  glass  windows  and  teak  framings  the 
round  face  of  Drevis  Noordhoff  could  be  seen  at  the  wheel. 
"  What's  that  you  said,  Mr.  Cadoxton  ?  " 

"  Not  a  usual  name,  sir,*'  said  Mr.  Cadoxton,  deferentially.  He 
was  a  rather  exasperating  young  man,  with  his  courtly  manner 
and  boyish  face.  He  had  grown  up  in  the  new  tradition  into 
which  the  Old  Man  desired  to  be  an  adept,  and  he  had  a  way  of 
impressing  his  superiority  upon  people. 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  365 

"  No,"  snapped  Captain  Briscoe,  relapsing  into  the  older  tra- 
dition.    "What  of  it?" 

"  Well  —  shall  we  ease  her,  sir  ?  " 

"  Stop  her!     Mess-room,  did  you  say?  " 

"  Yes,  sir.  Joined  in  London.  Belongs  there,  I  believe.  He 
hasn't  a  discharge,  of  course." 

Captain  Briscoe  walked  up  and  down,  making  signs  to  Tommy 
at  the  wheel  and  Waving  to  the  men  on  the  pier  heads.  He 
remembered  now.  It  was  the  lad  in  the  tobacconist's  shop,  of 
course.  Certainly  it  was,  as  the  Third  Mate  said,  curious.  He 
turned  suddenly  and  walked  back. 

"  Half,"  he  said.  "  Port  there  —  that'll  do.  Slow,  Mr.  Ca- 
doxton." 

"  Quarter-cheek's  away,  sir,"  said  Cadoxton. 

"  Half,  then.     What  made  you  mention  it?  " 

"  Well,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  sir,  the  Third  Engineer  was 
telling  Mr.  Brail  of  a  friend  of  his  of  that  name,  and  Mr.  Brail, 
he  said  his  brother-in-law  on  the  Torso  knew  a  lady  of  the  same 
name,  you  see,  and  so " 

"  What  was  he  on  the  Torso?  " 

"  Mate,  sir,  I  believe." 

The  Old  Man  turned  away  again.  He  leaned  over  the  end 
of  the  bridge  and  watched  the  piers  receding.  Once  more  he 
was  going  out  to  sea.  But  this  time  he  was  conscious  of  a  dif- 
ference. He  had  left  something  behind.  As  the  distance  widened 
he  felt  as  though  an  invisible  thread  were  drawn  taut.  She 
was  already  far  away  in  her  little  flat.  A  sudden  pain  shot 
through  his  heart.  Had  he  been  a  fool?  He  was  terribly 
proud,  this  master  mariner,  proud  of  his  career,  of  his  yeoman 
ancestry,  of  his  ship,  of  his  wife.  But  had  he  been  a  fool  over 
the  wife?  Had  his  impulse  led  him  wrong?  Somehow  this 
news  of  the  lad  in  the  mess-room  disturbed  him,  he  scarcely  knew 
why.  Surely  he  had  gone  into  the  whole  business  with  his  eyes 
open.  Minnie  had  not  deceived  him.  No,  dammit,  she  had 
graciously  accepted  him.  The  pilot  touched  him  on  the  shoul- 
der. 

"  Pleasant  voyage,  Cap'en." 

They  shook  hands  and  the  pilot  went  down  to  wait  for  the 
tug.  Captain  Briscoe  resumed  his  thoughts.  Was  this  to  be 
liis  portion  for  months  now?  He  had  read  of  jealousy.  Was 
he  to  dream  of  that  little  flat?  to  pace  the  bridge  at  night  think- 


366  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

ing  of  her  as  he  knew  her  in  Antwerp,  of  other  men  ringing  the 
bell,  and  of  coming  in?  Oh,  that  would  be  a  hell  of  a  life !  The 
perspiration  stood  on  his  face  though  the  morning  wind  was  cool. 
He  went  down  and  drank  a  glass  of  whisky.  What  was  his 
nerve  coming  to?  He  understood  now  why  married  men  stood 
motionless  by  the  rail,  looking  out  across  the  sea.  As  he  went 
into  the  chart-room  to  set  the  course,  he  bethought  himself  of 
prayer.     Could  he  pray?     God!     What  a  life! 

Mr.  Hopkins  stood  on  the  lee-side  of  his  house  and  in- 
spected the  discharge  water  as  it  foamed  below  him.  Like  most 
men  with  a  ruined  digestion  he  rarely  looked  happy.  The 
Second  Mate  had  stopped  on  his  way  to  the  bridge  to  inform  him 
that  the  Old  Man  had  written  a  ten-page  letter  to  his  wife  the 
night  before,  and  he  had  received  the  news  with  calmness,  merely 
spitting  into  the  sea.  What  fools  men  were!  He  listened  to 
the  beat  of  the  engine,  suspicious  of  trouble.  He  was  always 
anxious  until  the  Second  came  up  and  stood  by  the  rail  smoking, 
silent  and  disdainful,  as  though  wondering  what  land  was  for 
anyhow.  He  would  look  thus  at  the  eternal  hills  round  the 
Piraeus,  at  the  glittering  domes  of  Venice,  a  sarcastic  sphinx. 
As  he  came  up  now,  the  Mumbles  Head  received  his  disparage- 
ment. The  Chief  looked  at  him  furtively.  What  was  he  think- 
ing about,  this  wiry  and  tireless  lieutenant?  He  wasn't  mar- 
ried. Was  he  disappointed  because  he  never  attained  promotion? 
What  a  fool!  He  was  better  where  he  was.  He  could  eat  his 
meals  anyhow  —  blessed  privilege ! 

"  All  right  ?  "  he  asked,  looking  towards  the  shore. 

"  Intermediate  Rod's  blowin'  a  bit.  I'll  take  up,"  said  the 
young  man. 

"  Aye,  it'll  take  up,"  echoed  the  Chief.     "  Swab  it  good." 

An  expression  of  contempt  crept  into  the  Second's  face,  but 
he  did  not  answer.  When  the  Chief  looked  round  to  speak  to 
him  again  he  was  gone,  and  the  Third  went  past  him  with  a  long 
slouching  stride.  He  was  going  to  the  forecastle,  Mr.  Hopkins 
knew.  Some  damned  scum  was  sleeping  off  the  drink  instead  of 
taking  his  watch  on  the  fires.  The  Chief  let  his  mind  wander 
gently  to  the  days  when  he  was  young  and  indignant,  when  he 
fought  with  the  soddened  and  desperate  seamen  who  fill  the  stoke- 
holds of  our  merchant  navy.  His  hand  wandered  to  his  thigh 
whence  he  had  once  pulled  a  Dago's  knife.     Fierce  work  on  those 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  367 

Manzanillo  boats  in  the  old  days,  eh  ?  He  saw  the  Third  return- 
ing along  the  foredeck  pushing  and  punching  a  reeling  brown- 
bearded  man.  Up  the  ladder  to  the  bridge  deck  he  came  some- 
how, pummelled  from  behind,  falling  prone  by  the  cabin  door. 
The  Third  heaved  him  up  and  along  again  until  they  reached  Mr. 
Hopkins.  Mr.  Hopkins  regarded  the  brown-bearded  man  with 
disfavour.  His  big  blue  eyes  were  bleared  with  drink,  his  mouth 
worked  convulsively  and  his  clothes  were  dropping  from  him. 
He  leaned  his  shoulders  hard  against  the  house,  and  his  head 
sank. 

"  Goin'  to  turn  to  ?  "  asked  the  Third,  shaking  him. 

"  What's  his  name?  "  asked  the  Chief. 

"  I  dunno.     He's  a  Dutchman." 

"  What's  your  name  ?  "  repeated  the  Chief. 

The  man's  eyes  opened,  blinked,  and  closed  again,  as  he  hic- 
coughed. Four  bells  rang  clear  and  distinct  on  the  morning 
air,  and  a  sailor  ran  up  the  bridge-ladder  to  relieve  at  the  wheel. 
Tommy  came  clattering  down  to  get  his  coffee,  running  along  the 
alley-way.  As  he  passed  the  little  group,  the  fireman's  eyes 
opened  and  roved  round  glassily.  They  settled  on  the  boy's 
face  as  he  stood  there  trying  to  pass. 

"  What's  your  name?  " 

"  Jesus !  My  name ! "  The  man  struggled  to  his  feet  and 
stood  grasping  the  rail.  A  shudder  of  nausea  ran  over  him  and 
he  raised  his  brown-bearded  face  to  the  blue  sky.  .  .  . 

"  Better  get  down  below,"  said  Mr.  Hopkins  to  the  Third. 
"  Leave  him  to  me." 

Slowly  the  man  turned  his  eyes  aft,  where  the  boy  was  talking 
to  the  Bo'sun. 

"  My  name,"  he  whispered  huskily.  "  Mister,  I'm  bad. 
Lemme  go  and  turn  in,  for  God's  sake."  Again  he  looked. 
"  Better  this  afternoon,  sir." 

"  Git  out  of  it,"  said  Mr.  Hopkins,  turning  away. 

Hannibal  was  fixing  up  a  photograph  in  his  berth  when  Tommy 
came  in. 

"  You  got  a  gel  all  right,  all  right,"  he  remarked  approvingly. 
"  We'll  write  post-cards  each  place,  eh  ?  " 

"  Sure,"  assented  Hannibal.     "  Letters  too." 

"  I  don't  know  what  to  say  in  a  letter,  in  English,"  said 
Tommy,  feeling  elbow-deep  in  his  canvas  bag.     "  I  only  write 


368  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

to  'im  in  a  letter/'  and  he  nodded  to  a  sketch  of  a  clean-shaven 
man  with  a  loose  tie  that  was  pinned  over  the  lad's  bunk.  Tommy 
fled  out  again  and  left  Hannibal  to  examine  the  picture  at  leisure. 
Tommy  was  not  loquacious  about  his  friend.  He  called  him 
"  the  man  dat  looks  after  me."  He  had  a  bundle  of  long  letters 
from  him,  addressed  to  "  Mein  Fliegende  Hollander/'  which 
Tommy  had  explained  to  Hannibal's  puzzled  ears.  It  appeared 
that  this  man  "  made  pictures  "  and  had  "  bags  of  money/'  that 
he  had  been  a  passenger  on  a  ship,  the  old  Eumenides,  where 
Tommy  had  been  cook's  boy,  and  he  had  taken  an  interest  in  him. 
And  being  something  of  a  power,  through  relatives  in  Billiter 
Lane,  he  had  got  the  Amsterdammer  on  the  Caryatid  as  a  sailor. 
That  was  why,  Tommy  said,  in  answer  to  Hannibal's  query,  he 
was  in  a  room  amidships  instead  of  in  the  forecastle.  Some  day, 
when  he  had  finished  his  time,  the  picture-man  was  going  to 
get  him  a  mate's  job,  and  then  he  was  made!  "You  see," 
Tommy  had  said  simply,  "  he  ain't  got  no  liddle  boys,  and  he 
want  me  to  be  smart  an*  get  on,  and  den,  he'll  help  me.  When 
I  done  four  years,  I'll  get  my  ticket  an'  go  third  mate.  I  call 
him  my  fader,  'cause  I  never  had  one,  see."  Hannibal  thought 
of  this  now  as  he  put  up  the  photo  of  Miss  Ffitt  on  the  bulk- 
head over  the  settee,  and  his  mouth  hardened.  There  was  no 
"  picture-man  "  to  take  an  interest  in  him,  that  was  plain,  nor 
did  he  want  one.  He  was  going  to  make  his  own  way.  He 
had  something  to  work  for  now,  something  to  think  about. 
Unlike  Captain  Briscoe,  no  doubt  assailed  the  young  man's 
mind.  Nellie  wasn't  that  sort.  Of  course,  she  had  to  be  easy 
and  good-natured  to  the  customers,  but  what  of  that?  It  was 
business.  His  luck  almost  took  his  breath  away.  She  had  told 
him  that  old  Snickery  would  have  to  vest  the  licence  in  some  one 
else,  as  he  could  not  hold  the  new  premises  as  well.  And  he 
wanted  to  hold  the  new  premises  very  badly,  for  they  were 
going  to  pull  it  down  later  on,  when  it  would  be  valuable.  Any- 
thing might  happen,  they  decided  as  they  talked  it  over.  Hanni- 
bal wanted  to  rise  to  this  new  development.  With  Nellie  he 
felt  it  possible  to  accomplish  wonders.  He  would  hold  the  Chief 
to  that  promise  Mrs.  Hopkins  had  extracted  from  him  and  try 
and  save  money.  By  money  Hannibal  did  not  mean  thousands. 
He  really  had  no  conception  of  a  hundred  pounds.  He  was  like 
those  Bushmen  who  cannot  count  beyond  a  certain  figure.  Fifty 
was  a  golden  dream,  but  he  determined  to  get  as  near  as  he 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  369 

could  to  it.  By  the  time  lie  went  in  to  tidy  up  the  Second's  room 
he  felt  confident  about  fifty.  And  then,  coming  back  again,  roll- 
ing home  across  the  sea !  He  tried  to  realise  his  position.  Out- 
ward bound,  and  all  the  world  to  see ! 


XV 

WHEN  he  turned  out  one  morning  at  half-past  four 
and  looking  through  the  port  saw  no  land,  he  felt 
that  the  irrevocable  had  happened.  For  the  first 
time  he  was  out  of  sight  of  England.  Tommy, 
taking  his  hour  on  deck,  looked  out  of  sleepy  eyes  at  the  round 
cloudless  sky-line  and  said  that  that  was  nothing.  Hannibal  sup- 
posed it  was.  He  grew  accustomed  to  being  told  that  the  things 
he  felt  were  nothing.  This  nihilism  of  the  seafarer  is  a  sort 
of  half-way  house,  where  he  dwells  awhile  before  he  goes  on  to 
the  final  acceptance  and  despair.  But  Hannibal  did  not  think 
it  was  nothing.  He  thought  it  was  wonderful,  these  familiars 
of  the  sea.  Day  by  day,  he  would  watch  the  great  pano- 
rama, the  sudden  rifting  of  the  clouds,  the  downward  dart 
of  the  straight  strong  beams  like  the  pillars  of  a  golden  tower 
reaching  up  to  God.  He  saw  the  black  massing  of  the  rain- 
clouds,  the  swift  movements  of  their  shadows  across  the  sea, 
the  gulls  wheeling  in  endless  circles  above  his  head,  black  against 
the  sunlight,  white  as  snow  against  the  clouds.  He  saw  huge 
liners  loom  up  on  the  horizon,  burst  into  clear  view,  with  all 
their  panoply  of  boats  and  ventilators  and  glittering  windows, 
flash  past  with  proud  funnels  belching  smoke,  and  drop  out 
of  sight.  He  saw  oil-tanks  towing  slowly  and  painfully  east- 
ward, the  stunted  little  steamers  with  their  ugly  high-perched 
bridges,  the  unwieldy  lighters  with  their  tall  steel  masts  and 
solitary  deck-houses.  Humbly  indeed  they  swam  on  the  ocean, 
bereft  even  of  a  name,  and  expressing,  in  their  dangerousness 
and  preciousness  the  ignoble  ideals  of  those  who  send  them 
forth.  He  saw  tiny  fishing  boats  bobbing  buoyantly  as  they 
toiled  to  reap  a  scanty  harvest  on  the  broad  fields  of  the  Bay. 
He  saw  white  winged  sailing  ships  come  up  out  of  the  dawn, 
flying  clouds  above  grey  hulls  that  lay  over  to  the  wind.  And 
when  the  weather  changed  and  the  Caryatid  bored  her  way 
through  the  sloping  green,  when  the  sky  was  thick  with  great 
clouds  racing  easterly  and  the  wind-swept  decks  wet  with  the 
leaping  spray,  he   saw  the  sea  in  a  fresh  phase.     For  hours, 

370 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  371 

when  his  work  was  done,  he  watched  the  mountainous  waves  roll- 
ing up  and  crashing  against  the  stubborn  bows,  listened  to  the 
boom  and  rattle  of  the  plating,  the  sough  of  the  wind  in  the 
ventilators  and  the  scuffle  of  the  propeller  when  the  stern  lifted 
in  the  swell.  And  when  the  weather  roughened,  he  would  stand 
by  the  galley  and  watch  the  green  seas  leap  over  the  bulwarks 
and  thunder  upon  the  deck  in  furious  splendour.  Sometimes 
they  missed  and  he  would  wait  breathlessly  for  the  next.  Like 
most  ships  which  have  had  their  load-lines  raised,  the  Caryatid 
was  a  wet  ship.  Sea  after  sea  came  over  the  weather  side,  and 
Hannibal  would  note  the  sailors  with  their  heads  bowed,  drenched 
to  the  skin,  hanging  to  the  life-lines  that  ran  along  on  either 
side.  This  was  summer  weather  in  a  steamer!  To  them  it  was 
nothing.  They  did  not  call  it  going  to  sea,  these  leathery  beings 
who  had  been  round  the  Horn  in  sail  before  Hannibal  was 
born.  This  was  summer  time.  Day  by  day  they  chipped  and 
scraped  and  washed  the  paintwork,  moving  about  with  a  sort  of 
lumbering  ease  adapted  to  their  arduous  and  humdrum  labour. 
Only  in  the  forecastle,  where  Hannibal  did  not  see  them,  did  they 
drop  their  mask  and  try,  pathetically  enough,  to  be  human.  He 
saw  the  black  squad  too,  now  and  again,  dark  forms  hunched 
against  the  funnel-casing  awaiting  the  eight-bell  chime:  or  he 
would  come  upon  a  trimmer,  emerging  from  the  hatch,  filthy 
and  breathless,  his  sweat-rag  in  his  teeth  and  a  smoking  slush- 
lamp  in  his  hand.  The  Second  would  often  appear  abruptly 
from  the  sliding  coal,  and  discuss  professional  problems  with 
the  Chief,  who  awaited  him.  Day  by  day  and  night  by  night 
each  one  of  these  men  had  his  appointed  hour  and  toil.  He 
saw  the  Old  Man  in  his  double-breasted  coat  with  the  brass 
buttons  and  his  long  sea-boots,  pacing  the  bridge  like  a  caged 
animal,  silent  and  supreme.  It  was  inconceivable  that  he  should 
he  Minnie's  husband,  grotesque,  absurd.  Once  or  twice,  he 
had  paused  in  his  walk  and  eyed  Hannibal  as  he  hurried  to 
and  from  the  Steward's  pantry.  What  was  he  thinking 
about?  Was  he  angry  because  his  wife's  brother  was  a  mess- 
room  steward  ?  Did  he  know  ?  Hannibal  gave  it  up.  He  knew 
so  little  about  his  sister.  Only  when  in  thought  he  placed  her 
side  by  side  with  Nellie  did  he  feel  certain  of  his  ground. 
Nellie  was  different  from  Minnie.  He  felt  that.  There  was 
something  strange  about  Minnie,  superior  as  she  was.  With 
the  sublime  omniscience  of  youth  he  brought  all  morality  to  the 


372  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

measure  of  his  embryo  mind.  And  in  his  embryo  mind  the  thing 
that  was  strange  was  antagonistic.  That  was  why  he  loved  the 
eternal  heave  and  rhythm  of  the  ocean.  But  in  his  love  for 
Nellie  he  instinctively  shrank  from  anything  so  strange  as  Min- 
nie. Why  did  his  mother  never  speak  of  her?  She  must  be 
more  than  strange,  more  than  antagonistic;  there  must  be  some- 
thing evil  in  her  life.  To  him  evil  was  not  a  devil  with  horns 
and  tail,  not  even  a  fiery  furnace.  It  was  rather  a  vague  un- 
easiness, a  dark  cloud  at  the  back  of  his  mind.  To  Tommy  it 
was  something  sharp  and  very  real,  hunger  and  the  bodily  pain 
of  cruel  whipping.  But  Hannibal  had  never  been  very  hungry 
nor  had  he  been  drilled  in  the  religion  of  an  avenging  deity. 
He  did  not  know  what  it  was,  save  that  when  he  thought  of 
Nellie  and  Minnie,  he  was  afraid.  And  yet,  there  was  the 
Old  Man.  He  gave  it  up  and  went  on  living  his  own  life,  dream- 
ing of  the  future,  and  watching  with  insatiable  interest  the  com- 
mon flow  and  return  of  sea  and  sky. 

And  as  they  drove  southward  towards  the  Canaries,  a  new 
wonder  came  to  him.  The  clouds  rolled  away  across  the  world 
and  the  air  grew  warmer.  Down  in  the  engine-room  Hannibal 
thought  it  unbearable.  In  that  maze  of  flying  rods  and  gleam- 
ing metal,  men  toiled,  stripped  to  the  under-vests.  The  oil- 
laden  atmosphere  stifled  him,  but  the  Third  sneered  amiably 
at  the  bare  suggestion  that  it  was  anything  unusual.  With  the 
sweat  running  from  his  grey  face  in  streams,  he  would  tell  the 
young  man  that  it  was  "  just  a  nice  workin'  heat."  And  he  would 
lift  the  chatty  from  its  hook  in  the  ventilator  and  drink  long 
and  thirstily.  "  You're  not  born  yet,"  he  would  tell  Hannibal. 
"  You'll  be  marked  before  you  see  old  England  again.  This  is 
nothing.  The  stufF'll  be  up  at  the  top  o'  the  thermometer  and 
tappin'  to  be  let  out,  yet." 

"  Is  it  'ot  in  the  bunkers  ?  "  Hannibal  asked  timorously,  lifting 
his  mouth  fish-like  to  the  cool  of  the  ventilator. 

"  Hot  in  the  bunkers  ?  Just  a  wee.  Still  set  on  it  ?  Ah ! 
You'll  get  a  bellyful  before  you're  paid  off*  then.  Fine  healthy 
exercise  for  a  young  chap,  trimmin'  is  ?  " 

The  Chief  saluted  the  lower  parallels  by  changing  into  a  weird 
costume  of  stained  khaki,  and  ordering  Hannibal  to  remove  a 
blanket  from  the  bed.  That  bed-making  was  a  trial  to  him  at 
first.  The  engineers  one  and  all  broke  out  into  open  insurrection 
over  his  entirely  new  and  original  method  of  folding  the  bed- 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  373 

clothes  so  that  no  mortal  could  insinuate  himself  into  them.  So 
he  went  humbly  to  Tommy,  who  knew  everything,  and  asked  to  be 
shown  how.  Tommy's  blue  eyes  opened  in  wonder  upon  a 
young  man  of  eighteen  not  knowing  how  to  do  a  simple  little 
thing  like  that. 

"  You  thick !  "  he  said,  grinning.  "  'Ere,  I'll  show  you."  He 
dropped  the  clothes  off  his  bunk  and  began.  "  First,"  he  said, 
"  take  all  dese  off,  see,  and  put  them  on  the  settee.  Now  tuck 
in  de  bottom  blanket.  Engineers  'ave  sheets,  see?  Den  put  de 
piller  straight  an'  tidy.  Den  you  vatch  me.  Take  de  blanket 
and  de  sheet  an'  lay  'em  along  de  edge  o'  de  bunk  like  so, 
see?" 

Swiftly  Tommy  laid  the  bedding  across  the  bunk-board  and 
folded  the  tops  neatly  back. 

"  Who  taught  you,  Tommy  ?  "  asked  Hannibal,  trying  to  imi- 
tate him. 

"  Me?  De  steward  o'  that  German  boat,  'Amburg-Amerika 
Line,  'e  show  me.  It  was  'im  gimme  de  belt,  an'  den  I  run  away, 
see." 

"  That  feller's  a  good  friend  to  you,"  said  Hannibal,  remem- 
bering what  Tommy  had  told  him,  and  nodding  at  the  photo- 
graph. 

"  Sure  thing !  He  gimme  my  sextant,  and  plenty  clo'es.  He's 
a  Man!"  stammered  Tommy,  a  far-away  look  in  his  eyes.  "A 
Man,  by  God! " 

"Why  don't  he  get  you  a  job  ashore?"  asked  Hannibal. 

"  I  dunno.  Not  so  easy.  I'm  a  sea-boy,  I  am.  I  reckon  it's 
got  to  be.  And  it  ain't  so  bad,  if  you're  smart  and  try  to  get 
on,  eh?  Everybody  got  to  work!  He  works,  making  pictures 
same  as  Rembrandt.  When  we  come  back  I'm  going  to  see  him 
in  London.     He's  away  now." 

Bit  by  bit  Hannibal,  friendly-eyed  and  unobtrusive,  learned 
the  obscure  histories  of  his  shipmates.  Bit  by  bit  he  picked 
them  up,  piece  here,  piece  there,  a  vivid  patch  next  week,  and 
tried  in  his  unskilled  way  to  put  them  together.  What  a  won- 
derful patch-work  it  was!  He  would  talk  at  times  to  the  ap- 
prentices, who  had  imagination,  and  they  helped  him  to  join 
up  stray  fragments  of  gossip.  They  told  him  of  Mr.  Cadoxton's 
lordly  connexions,  of  the  Second  Mate's  bigamy  case  a  year  be- 
fore, and  they  fed  him  full  with  amazing  stories  of  the  Old 
Man's  wife.     He  was  interested  in  this  last,  as  may  be  imag- 


374  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

ined.  The  senior  apprentice  certainly  told  his  tale  well,  though 
Mr.  Cadoxton's  artistry  was  visible  in  the  sketches.  But  Hanni- 
bal's was  a  detached  interest  tinctured  with  a  furtive  pride  in 
his  exclusive  knowledge  of  the  lady.  They  told  him,  too,  of 
the  Old  Man,  how  he  tramped  the  bridge  hour  after  hour  star- 
ing across  the  sea,  how  he  let  meal  after  meal  pass  without 
uttering  a  word,  thinking,  thinking.  "  It's  on  his  mind,"  said 
the  senior  apprentice  darkly.  "  He  was  going  to  bring  her  the 
the  voyage,  but  Mr.  Cadoxton  says  she's  quite  impossible.  He 
tried  it  on  the  Torso,  you  see,  and  he  had  to  leave.  She  kidded 
him  she's  got  bags  of  money,  you  see,  and  now  he's  stung,  he 
can't  forget  it.  I  shouldn't  be  surprised  if  he  jumped  over  the 
side  one  of  these  days.  My  brother  was  with  a  skipper  who  cut 
his  throat."  And  so  on.  Hannibal  listened  to  it  all,  the  inane 
conjectures  of  the  sea.  He  could  not  help  seeing  that,  though 
very  human,  these  men  were  a  race  apart.  They  believed  all 
this  cackle  that  passed  from  lip  to  lip,  yet  it  altered  their  atti- 
tudes toward  one  another  not  at  all.  .  .  .  They  accepted  man  as 
desperately  wicked,  they  knew  him  to  be  inconceivably  foolish, 
and  these  special  examples  were  only  faint  outlines  of  what  they 
might  be.  Under  them  all  the  screw  kicked  them  ever  onward, 
over  their  heads  the  sun  rode  with  undeviating  rectitude.  What 
recked  it,  if  men  were  purblind  and  given  over  to  a  lie?  It  was 
but  a  tale  to  be  told  in  the  dog-watches.  The  iron  grip  of  the 
articles  held  them  for  a  time,  and  then,  when  they  j  ostled  into  the 
shipping  office  once  more,  they  would  fall  apart,  disintegrate,  and 
their  gossip  would  become  a  lurid  fable,  succulent  but  incredible. 
But  to  the  Old  Man,  it  was  no  fable  for  idle  hours.  As  they 
slid  through  the  summer  sea  the  possible  became  a  nightmare 
certainly,  and  he  writhed  with  no  soul  to  ease  him.  He  re- 
membered with  shame  his  indiscreet  outburst  before  the  Second 
and  Chief,  when  the  bitterness  of  the  dawn  was  upon  him.  Me- 
chanically he  took  his  bearings,  checked  the  reckonings,  and 
wrote  his  night-orders.  Over  and  over  in  his  room  he  fumbled 
with  the  scanty  notes  that  she  had  written  him.  She  had  no  gift 
for  correspondence,  she  had  said  lightly,  as  she  held  the  match 
for  his  cigar.  He  groaned  inwardly  as  he  recalled  that  every 
one  of  her  charms  was  the  charm  of  the  odalisque,  save  that  im- 
maculate calm,  that  maddening  indifference;  and  was  not  that 
after  all  a  supreme  effort  of  the  genius  of  the  odalisque?  She 
had  led  him  on  by  thrusting  him  back.  .  .  .  Yes,  by  God !     Sh6 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  375 

had  sent  him  away.  And  he  —  the  infatuate  fool  —  but  stay,  he 
loved  her ! 

He  would  drop  his  cigar  into  the  tray  as  he  sat  in  his  room, 
and  stare  with  strained  eyes  into  vacancy,  holding  the  edge  of 
the  table.  Sometimes  he  would  draw  out  his  writing-materials 
and  begin  a  letter.  My  own  dear  darling  little  wife,  and  so  sit 
an  hour  on  end,  in  an  agony  of  doubt.  Sometimes  he  would 
start  up,  resolved  to  break  the  spell,  light  a  fresh  cigar,  drink  a 
stiff  peg  of  whisky,  and  go  along  to  the  Chief's  room.  But  the 
Chief  did  not  understand,  and  resented  interruptions  when  he 
was  reading  Scott.  He  had  no  interest  in  Scott,  and  he  hated 
Scotsmen  as  only  a  Welshman  can  hate,  but  he  had  got  into 
the  habit.  He  fell  asleep  over  the  Talisman  in  the  afternoon, 
and  after  ten  he  would  take  down  Quentin  Durward  and  start 
half-way  through.  Was  he  curious  to  peep  furtively  into  that 
mysterious  world  of  mushy  heroics  in  which  he  had  no  part? 
Did  he  believe  after  all  in  anything  beyond  his  propeller?  Who 
can  say?  He  would  lay  the  book  aside  and  clear  the  litter  from 
his  settee,  and  wait  for  the  Old  Man  to  speak. 

"  Pretty  fair  run,"  the  Old  Man  would  say,  and  Mr.  Hopkins, 
reaching  for  his  pipe,  would  nod. 

"  Wednesday  morning,  I  should  say,  eh,  at  two  hundred  and 
fifty  a  day?" 

Another  nod.     "How's  things  going?     All  right?" 

Another  nod,  and  silence.  And  then  the  Old  Man's  eyes 
would  move  around  the  room,  as  though  he  had  never  seen  it 
before.  He  would  look  at  the  bookshelf  stuffed  with  dime- 
novels  and  Scott,  built  solid  with  magazines  and  a  copy  of 
Breakdowns  at  Sea.  A  photograph  of  Mrs.  Hopkins,  taken  some 
years  back,  in  a  widespreading  skirt  and  with  her  sharp  eyes 
cast  down  on  the  pages  of  a  book,  was  fastened  in  brass  clips 
over  the  bunk.  Other  photographs  there  were,  groups  of  em- 
barrassed men  in  uniform,  with  backgrounds  of  ventilators  and 
life-buoys,  faded  portraits  of  old  ladies  and  gentlemen.  Colour- 
prints  there  were  too,  gaudy  trashy  things  with  sentimental 
rhymes  tagged  to  them,  picture  post-cards  of  quite  indescribable 
bathos.  Mr.  Hopkins  would  sit,  his  head  on  his  hand,  listening 
to  the  steady  drum  of  the  engines.  He  had  no  opinion  of  his 
wall  decorations;  they  did  as  well  as  anything.  Once  he  had 
gone  over  the  side,  his  watch  in  his  pocket  and  his  certificate  in  a 
Hm  case  in  his  teeth,  and  from  the  lifeboat,  lifting  to  the  eaTly 


376  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

morning  swell,  had  peered  through  a  thin  fog  at  the  steamer 
that  settled  slowly  by  the  head  and  finally  vanished.  He  thought 
nothing  of  it.  It  was,  he  would  have  told  you,  nothing.  The 
idea  of  using  such  an  incident  to  make  conversation  was  gro- 
tesque. Captain  Briscoe,  desirous  of  being  communicative,  would 
have  felt  no  interest  in  such  a  commonplace  triviality.  He  him- 
self had  spent  three  days  of  his  life  on  a  raft,  equipped  with  a 
most  inadequate  supply  of  provisions,  so  inadequate  in  fact  that 
two  out  of  his  three  companions,  somewhat  run  down  by  the 
fine  weather  and  the  tropical  sun,  went  to  sleep  and  never  woke 
up.  The  minds  of  such  men  are  like  locked  chambers  of  horrors 
of  which  the  keys  have  been  lost.  Mr.  Hopkins  gave  one  the 
idea  at  times  that  he  was  looking  for  the  key,  that  he  was  trying 
to  think  where  he  had  seen  it  last.  Perhaps  that  was  the  reason 
that  he  read  Scott.  As  the  Old  Man's  eye  moved  restlessly 
round,  he  would  fill  his  pipe  and  reach  out  with  incredible  deliber- 
ation for  the  matches. 

"  She's  a  comfortable  ship,  this,"  the  Old  Man  would  say. 

"  Ah,  I've  seen  worse,"  Mr.  Hopkins  would  mutter  between 
the  puffs,  and  he  would  hold  the  match  interminably  over  the 
ash  tray,  and  letting  it  drop  at  last  as  though  it  was  his  life, 
and  he  was  weary  of  it. 

"  You've  been  here  a  good  while  now  ?  " 

Mr.  Hopkins  nodded. 

"  How'd  you  get  on  with  old  Middleton  ?  " 

"  Not  so  bad." 

"  Used  to  carry  his  wife,  didn't  he  ?  " 

A  nod. 

"All  the  time?" 

"  Mostly." 

"  I  wish  I'd  brought  Mrs.  Briscoe  now.  She'll  be  lonely  all 
this  time." 

Only  five  days  out!  There  was  a  shade  of  expression  in  Mr. 
Hopkins'  face,  an  expression  of  contempt. 

"  Oh,  I  mean,  you  know,  the  voyage  ?  Oil's  way  up  now,  you 
know,  Chief.  It's  all  on  the  cards  we  take  case-oil  out  of  New 
York  to  Japan,  eh?     They  told  me  so  in  Billiter  Lane." 

"  A  year  perhaps,  that's  nothing." 

"  It's  some  waiting  when  you're  a  married  man,  I  think.  I 
wish  I'd  brought  her  with  me." 

"Why  didn't  you?" 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  377 

"  She  didn't  like  the  idea  —  said  she'd  had  enough  .  .  ."  The 
Old  Man  stopped,  pulled  himself  up  short;  you  could  almost 
hear  the  brakes  screaming.  "  She's  a  bad  sailor.  Even  cross- 
ing the  Channel's  too  much  for  her,  she  says.  She  travelled  a 
good  deal,"  he  ended  lamely,  looking  at  the  end  of  his  cigar.  Mr. 
Hopkins,  on  this  occasion,  made  no  remark.  His  poise  was  ad- 
mirable. 

"  I  suppose  a  man  gets  used  to  it/'  the  Old  Man  added. 
"In  time,  eh?" 

Appealed  to  directly,  the  Chief  allowed  his  eyes  to  travel  to 
Captain  Briscoe's  knees.  Perhaps  the  question  struck  a  chord 
within  him.  Perhaps  his  imagination  was  fired  by  the  counter- 
idea  of  a  man  actually  not  getting  used  to  it.  He  was  stirred. 
He  became,  comparatively  speaking,  dramatic.  He  shrugged 
his  shoulders  and  reached  for  another  match. 

"  Got  to,"  he  whispered. 


XVI 

IT  was  a  pleasant  life,  trading  the  wide  world  round,  and 
the  scenes  came  so  rapidly  before  him  that  Hannibal  felt 
the  need  of  a  readjustment  in  his  mental  process.  No 
longer  was  it  possible  (and  the  change  from  mess-room 
to  forecastle  made  the  process  imperative)  to  brood  over  the 
rich  phantasmagoria  of  sea-life  as  he  had  brooded  over  the 
easy  monotony  of  youth.  When  you  are  going  to  and  fro  across 
the  Seven  Seas,  carrying  coal  to  the  Islands,  loading  oil  in  the 
West,  taking  sugar  from  Java  to  Germany,  and  salt  from  Ger- 
many to  New  York,  your  attitude  towards  the  eternal  verities 
becomes  strained.  You  begin  to  understand  the  men  about  you, 
why  they  say  continually  that  these  things  are  nothing,  and 
revolve  on  your  own  pivot.  The  ship  takes  on  an  importance 
you  could  not  conceive  before:  her  very  vilenesses  are  dear  to 
you.  You  become  a  part  of  her.  You  hear,  in  the  night  watches, 
her  voice  as  she  labours  onward,  the  little  intimate  complaints 
of  her  fabric.  And  then,  when  in  the  forecastle  you  hear  the 
incredible  clangours  of  the  chain-locker  as  the  anchor  plunges 
headlong  to  the  mud  of  the  harbour,  it  is  to  you  more  than 
the  fall  of  empires,  and  the  first  look  through  the  port  is  like 
the  discovery  of  a  new  world. 

So  he  changed,  this  young  man  from  London,  and  into  his 
eyes  came  the  look  of  those  who  have  seen  the  great  distances. 
He  grew  lean  and  wiry  and  tanned,  and  a  small  black  moustache, 
like  a  charcoal  smear,  came  into  being  on  his  upper  lip.  The 
refinements  of  urban  life,  such  as  he  had,  fell  from  him,  and 
his  speech  became  supple  with  the  lingua  franca  of  the  sea. 
He  took  his  meals  seated  on  a  soap  box,  with  the  platters  on 
his  knee,  and  he  learned  the  wisdom  of  eating  from  the  middle 
of  the  kid,  where  a  man's  thumb  cannot  reach.  He  became, 
as  is  necessary  in  the  forecastle,  primeval,  contracting  his  visible 
personality  to  a  canvas  bag  and  the  boards  on  which  he  slept. 
Day  and  night  disappeared  from  his  view  and  he  judged  men 
and  things  by  the  middle- watch.     Each  night  and  noon  he  took 

378 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  379 

his  way  along  the  fore-deck,  under  the  stars  or  beneath  a  furnace 
sky,  and  descended  into  his  appointed  place.  Here  again  were 
conditions  astonishingly  inimical  to  the  conventions  of  the  "  Lit- 
tle Brown  Box."  He  never  forgot  his  first  day,  leaving  sunny 
Las  Palmas,  in  the  bunkers.  The  Second  had  taken  him  down 
through  the  stokehold,  where  men  stabbed  furiously  at  burned- 
down  fires,  and  great  heaps  of  glowing  clinker  spattered  and 
stank  as  water  was  flung  over  them,  through  a  small  door  and 
up,  up  into  blackness  and  pungent  odours  to  where  small  yellow 
flames  burned  smokily  in  the  fog  of  a  coal  slide.  He  saw 
yawning  openings  in  the  decks  into  which  he  was  to  tumble  bar- 
row after  barrow,  openings  into  which  he  nearly  tumbled  himself 
once  or  twice.  And  he  had  been  left  there,  with  instructions 
to  get  a  move  on  and  keep  it  running.  He  had  set  to  work  in 
feverish  fashion,  shedding  first  the  blue  dungaree  coat,  then  the 
shirt,  and  finally,  stripped  to  the  skin,  shovelling,  shovelling, 
eyes,  and  nose  and  mouth  full  of  the  acrid  impalpable  dust  and 
the  sweat  making  rivulets  of  white  skin  on  his  chest.  He  had 
gone  at  it  bald-headed  at  first,  after  the  manner  of  the  tyro,  and 
at  two  o'clock  lay  panting  on  the  coal,  too  exhausted  to  climb  up 
or  down.  The  Second,  crawling  cat-like  over  the  hummocks, 
found  him  and  diagnosed  the  disease.  "  You  won't  last  a  week 
if  you  slog  at  it  like  that,  man,"  he  had  said,  his  eyes  gleaming 
in  his  soot-darkened  face.  "  Take  it  steady,  pitch-and-pitch. 
Like  this,"  and  taking  the  great  square-mouthed  shovel  he  drove 
it  deep  into  the  coal,  swung  it  back  and  out  with  a  long  measured 
lunge  and  shot  the  mass,  clean  and  solid,  into  the  hole  ten  feet 
beyond.  Hannibal  watched  him  attentively,  saw  the  sense  of 
slow-moving  persistence,  and  tried  again.  He  got  into  the  way 
of  it  in  a  day  or  two,  and  kept  her  running  easily  enough.  And 
when  the  agonising  stiffness  of  biceps  and  thighs  had  worn  away 
he  even  enjoyed  it.  It  was  fierce,  but  it  was  nearer  being  a 
man  than  anything  he  had  ever  experienced  before.  At  first  he 
had  regretted  the  flesh-pots,  and  sighed  on  Thursday  for  the 
ham-and-eggs  of  the  mess-room,  but  he  soon  discovered  that  the 
most  important  part  of  a  meal  was  the  pipe  that  followed.  He 
had  discarded  his  short  stumpy  briar,  and  divided  his  affections 
between  a  thick  clay  and  a  thin-stemmed  corncob.  He  learned 
to  cut  up  the  sweet  Boreen,  paring  it  into  his  hand,  rolling  it 
with  a  slow  circular  motion,  and  packing  it  away  skilfully  into 
the  bowl,  wasting  none  of  it.     He  would  take  his  corncob  up  on 


380  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

the  forecastle  head  after  tea,  which  was  his  favourite  time,  and 
with  his  back  against  the  windlass  drum  look  out  from  under  the 
low  awning  at  the  opal  and  turquoise  of  sea  and  sky.  It  was 
quiet  up  there,  and  he  discovered  the  sense  of  separation  that 
this  gives,  far  away  from  the  immediate  tumult  of  the  engine- 
room.  Even  in  the  bunkers  he  heard  them  but  faintly,  muffled 
throbs  mingling  with  the  scroop  and  rattle  of  the  shovel,  the 
croon  of  the  dry  barrow  wheel,  or  the  thunder  of  heavy  lumps 
against  the  bulkheads.  Up  there  he  would  sit  and  sometimes 
watch  for  Tommy.  Half-way  up  the  foremast  was  the  crow's- 
nest,  and  after  tea,  if  it  was  his  watch,  Tommy  would  climb 
up  to  the  ladder  and  ensconce  himself  there  for  an  hour,  peer- 
ing out  across  the  level  floors.  Sometimes  he  would  look  down 
and  grin  at  the  sedate  Hannibal  puffing  luxuriously  under  the 
awning.  It  was  in  this  way  that  Hannibal  learned  the  begin- 
ning of  a  story  that  had  its  ending  the  day  before  they  reached 
Japan.  The  brown-bearded  man  with  the  bloodshot  blue  eyes 
who  trimmed  on  the  four-to-eight  watch,  and  who  slept  in  the 
bunk  over  Hannibal's,  used  to  join  him  at  eight  bells,  and  sweep- 
ing the  kid  clean  with  a  crust,  discourse  upon  life  as  he  had 
found  it.  He  was  bitter  concerning  life,  apparently,  blaming  it 
for  many  things,  and  bitterer  concerning  women.  It  was  diffi- 
cult to  discover  exactly  what  his  grievance  against  them  was, 
for  from  his  own  telling  they  had  been  kind  to  him  in  a  casual 
way,  helping  him  in  divers  trouble,  giving  him  money,  and  asking 
naught  but  love  in  return.  He  was  very  proud  of  his  power  over 
women.  They  would  do  anything  for  him,  he  said.  It  was 
possible,  for  women  are  foolish,  and  he  had  the  mobile  mouth 
and  unabashed  eye  that  lures  them  to  folly.  And  yet  he  spoke 
of  them  with  bitterness.  They  were  all  no  good,  except  one, 
and  she  was  dead.  Perhaps  this  was  his  grievance.  She  had 
died  while  he  was  away,  and  her  mother,  the  old  hag!  had  de- 
manded money  to  keep  the  child.  That  was  years  ago,  when 
he  was  young,  and  might  have  settled  down.  He  had  had  every 
intention  of  settling  down  if  she  had  only  lived.  Of  course,  he 
only  told  his  own  side  of  the  story.  He  said  nothing  of  his 
desertion  of  the  woman.  How  was  he  to  know  she  would  have 
a  child?  And  he  never  had  any  money,  it  seemed  to  go  some- 
how. But  he  had  been  thinking,  and  he  was  going  to  make  a 
change;  he  was  going  to  save  this  trip's  money,  not  get  drunk 
at  all,  go  back  to  Amsterdam  and  get  a  boatman's  job.     He  would 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  381 

put  ten  pounds  in  the  bank  at  least,  and  buy  a  boat  and  some 
clothes  with  the  rest.     Sailormen  were  fools,  he  argued. 

Hannibal  would  listen  and  nod,  letting  the  brown-bearded 
man  go  on,  and  in  this  way  they  grew  friendly,  exchanging 
tobacco  and  matches,  pooling  things  like  butter  and  tea,  and 
doing  little  kindnesses  to  one  another.  They  shared  the  bucket 
that  the  Second  had  given  Hannibal,  and  took  turns  in  washing 
clothes  on  the  fore-hatch.  Little  as  there  is  to  steal  in  a  fore- 
castle, men  will  steal  it,  and  these  two  would  guard  each  other's 
tiny  belongings  in  the  watch  below,  taking  one  another's  part 
in  the  wrangle  over  the  tinned  milk,  and  so  cultivating  a  certain 
humanity  that  makes  for  the  soul's  good.  It  was  Jan  who  took 
Hannibal  ashore  in  New  York,  when  they  were  loading  there, 
and  led  him  across  the  Brooklyn  Bridge  into  the  unimaginable 
uproar  of  Manhattan.  Hannibal's  breath  stopped  as  he  stood 
there,  that  Saturday  afternoon,  among  the  tangle  of  iron  rods 
and  flying  trolley  cars,  and  looked  out  at  New  York.  It  was  to 
his  unaccustomed  eyes  the  City  of  a  Dream.  He  walked  through 
the  deep  streets,  a  pigmy  among  pigmies,  dazed  and  frightened. 
The  roar  of  it,  and  the  immensity  of  it,  appalled  him.  But 
when  they  walked  down  to  the  Battery  and  saw  the  great  ferries 
sliding  back  and  forth  like  shuttles  on  the  bright  water,  saw 
the  blue  sea  shimmering  beyond,  he  felt  reassured.  Jan  laughed 
and  said  it  was  nothing.  He  had  worked  there  once  for  a  time, 
got  four  dollars  a  day  until  he  went  on  the  booze  and  lost  his 
job.  It  had  not  been  his  fault.  Some  one  had  put  knock-out 
drops  in  his  liquor  and  cleaned  him  up  while  he  was  unconscious. 
All  his  money  gone,  he  had  shipped  away  again  on  a  German 
ship,  and  tried  to  start  afresh.  But  Hannibal's  gaze  returned 
again  and  again  to  the  tremendous  buildings  with  their  innumer- 
able windows,  tier  on  tier  to  the  sky,  their  giant  towers  and  stark 
outlines.  It  seemed  to  him  that  there  was  a  personal  antagonism 
in  this  monstrous  conglomeration  of  alien  energy,  and  he  felt 
afraid.  What  would  they  think  of  it  at  home?  How  would 
Mr.  Grober  regard  it?  It  did  not  occur  to  him  that  he  might 
find  Mr.  Grobers  in  New  York  as  in  London.  It  seemed  im- 
possible. This  was  a  place  for  men  who  had  leaped  the  quick- 
sands of  life,  who  were  not  to  be  sucked  in  like  Mr.  Grober. 
And  yet  as  his  eyes  took  in  the  more  immediate  details,  he  saw 
old  men  and  slatternly  women  on  the  seats  around  them  dozing 
in  the  heat,  very  like  people  on  seats  at  home.     It  was  when 


382  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

they  boarded  a  surface-car  and  went  away  uptown  that  he  saw 
a  difference.  There  was  a  brisk,  unrelenting  hardness  in  the 
faces,  a  ceaseless  striving  after  smartness  in  the  clothing,  a  dis- 
quieting lack  of  humanity  in  the  way  the  conductor  pushed  an 
old  man  off  the  step,  that  seemed  in  keeping  with  those  prodig- 
ious structures  among  which  they  crept.  Hannibal's  uneasiness 
deepened.  The  atmosphere  was  charged  with  unrest.  The 
brown-bearded  man  and  his  young  companion  in  their  rough  and 
crinkled  clothes  seemed  out  of  place.  They  got  off  and  walked 
along  aimlessly,  suddenly  tired.  Hannibal  felt  that  he  was  not 
equal  to  it.  He  wanted  to  get  back  to  the  ship.  He  remembered 
that  he  ought  to  write  a  letter. 

So  he  saw  the  world  in  fugitive  peeps,  and  began  to  com- 
prehend why  seamen  in  the  fulness  of  their  knowledge  called 
it  nothing.  He  felt  that  too;  all  those  millions  of  people  hurry- 
ing to  and  fro  were  nothing  to  him.  He  was  but  an  alien,  a 
haphazard  atom  of  humanity  dropped  among  them  for  an  idle 
hour.  A  day  or  two,  and  he  was  on  the  sea  again.  He  preferred 
it  that  way.  As  the  weeks  grew  into  months  he  became  aware 
of  a  fuller  and  more  passionate  love  of  it.  The  cool  wind  at 
evening,  when  he  sat  by  the  windlass  and  thought  of  Nellie;  the 
endlessly  changing  panorama  of  clouds,  the  sublime  galaxies  of 
the  tropic  sky,  the  friendly  moon  flooding  the  wide  ocean  with 
silver  light,  the  lonely  tramp  passing  a  mile  away  —  all  these 
things  touched  him  and  filled  his  heart  with  peace. 

He  had  had  no  letter  yet  from  her,  he  remembered,  as  they 
drove  southward  toward  the  Cape.  Of  course,  it  was  a  difficult 
job  to  time  a  letter  properly  to  catch  a  ship  that  was  wandering 
hither  and  thither.  Plenty  of  other  men  on  the  ship  had  missed 
letters  they  were  sure  had  been  mailed.  Perhaps  he  would  get 
one  in  Durban.  He  tried  to  feel  worried  but  he  did  not  succeed. 
He  longed  for  the  time  when  he  would  return,  and  yet  he  was 
very  happy  as  he  was.  He  liked  it,  this  life  of  strenuous  toil. 
He  liked  the  monotony  of  it.  It  gave  him  time  to  think  about 
things.  He  acquired  a  sort  of  spiritual  stoicism  often  cultivated 
at  sea.  It  is  the  ultimate  good  to  be  derived  from  the  sea  by 
those  who  dwell  in  the  hot,  unhealthy  huddle  of  towns.  In  there 
among  those  roadways,  in  the  clashing  din  of  the  market  and 
the  bawl  of  the  money-changers,  you  cannot  see  mankind  for  the 
people,  you  cannot  feel  for  your  nerves.  At  sea,  you  behold  the 
ignoble  rabble  in  perspective,  the  blatk  many-headed  swarm  lie 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  388 

on  the  fair  earth  like  a  blight,  you  perceive  the  contemptible 
insignificance  of  their  passions  in  comparison  with  the  terrible 
passion  of  the  sea,  and  if  you  have  been  living  "  according  to 
your  lights,"  you  will  have  time  and  space  to  see  the  lights  of 
eternity,  to  listen  to  the  west  wind,  and  to  harken  to  the  voice 
of  the  storm. 

He  had  too  much  to  reflect  upon  to  become  morbidly  interested 
in  himself.  No  man  can  be  an  egoist  in  the  forecastle.  The 
lack  of  privacy  and  the  communal  discipline  of  toil  precludes 
it.  When  the  Caryatid  pushed  her  blunt  nose  across  the  thirtieth 
parallel,  and  the  cool  rushing  trade-wind  poured  down  the  ven- 
tilators and  flapped  the  shirts  bent  to  the  forecastle  rails,  Han- 
nibal would  sit  amongst  his  mates  and  listen  to  their  vague 
maundering  speech.  They  were  scarcely  to  be  called  men,  if 
you  selected,  say,  Sir  Anthony  Gilfillan  as  a  typical  man. 
Rather  were  they  dumb-driven  cattle,  capable  nevertheless  of 
turning,  the  red  light  of  battle  in  the  dull  eye,  and  rushing  upon 
their  owners.     They  did  this  once  —  and  it  may  happen  again. 

For  the  most  they  slept  or  read  penny  stories  of  true  love 
and  virtue  triumphant.  There  were  twelve  of  them  there  in 
that  dark  triangular  cupboard.  Three  small  ports  admitted  a 
dim  twilight  upon  them  as  they  sat  about  on  boxes  or  lolled  in 
their  bunks.  At  night  a  single  bulb  of  light  behind  a  ground- 
glass  screen  burned  like  a  relentless  eye  watching  them.  When 
they  moved,  vast  shadows  swept  across  bulkhead  and  ceiling 
with  idiotic  speed.  Men  hung  pants  and  towels  over  their  rails 
to  obscure  the  light,  while  others  read.  Fritz,  the  German 
greaser,  had  fashioned  a  hinged  tin  box  to  cover  it  in  the  night- 
watches,  and  this  box  had  a  habit  of  working  loose  from  its  hook 
and,  coming  down  with  a  bang  in  the  middle  of  a  desultory  con- 
versation, plunge  them  in  darkness.  The  floor  was  littered  with 
matches  and  soiled  with  black  boot-tracks.  Here  and  there 
some  one  had  laid  down  a  piece  of  sacking  in  an  attempt  to  keep 
the  place  tidy.  One  or  two  bunks  were  neat  and  clean.  Often 
you  might  see  a  half-naked  figure  rubbing  with  sweat-rag  and 
soap  at  some  unpremeditated  soilure  on  his  bunk-board,  the 
petty  motions  of  his  arm  repeated  in  gigantic  grotesque  across  the 
wall.  But  these  were  exceptions.  The  great  Greek,  whose  feet 
hung  over  the  bunk-board  near  the  door  and  tended  to  obtrude 
upon  the  incoming  stranger,  terrifying  him  with  their  very  vast- 
ness,  blackness,  and  sprawling  articulation,  was  not  a  clean  man. 


384  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

Hannibal  would  sit  on  his  box  and  look  up  at  this  recumbent 
enigma,  wondering  what  he  thought  about.  It  was  his  duty 
twice  a  day,  at  four  o'clock,  to  arouse  the  man.  Once  —  the 
day  they  left  New  York,  to  be  precise  —  he  had  been  unable  to 
arouse  him.  Pinching,  punching,  shouting  into  the  sooty  orifice 
of  his  ear,  was  of  no  avail.  Hannibal  called  the  Second  Engi- 
neer, and  received  some  instruction  in  the  art  of  turning  out 
the  watch.  The  Second  placed  his  oil-smooth  hands  on  the 
Greek's  enormous  abdomen  and  rolled  him  slowly  from  side  to 
side.  If  you  have  a  nervous  temperament  this  will  cause  you  to 
sit  up,  knocking  your  head  against  the  bulb-iron  of  the  ceiling, 
and  shrieking  with  simple  terror.  But  the  Greek  was  fathoms 
deep  in  an  aftermath  of  carouse,  and  he  only  sighed,  flinging 
one  great  arm  over  his  head.  He  lay  there  in  magnificent  pose 
for  a  sculptor,  the  eccentricities  of  the  lighting  throwing  his 
profile  into  sharp  relief.  The  Second  was  not  a  sculptor,  and 
he  merely  scratched  his  hand  and  cast  his  eyes  down  at  the 
bottom  bunk.  A  tow-haired  Norwegian  lay  there,  wide-eyed, 
watching  him.  The  Second  crooked  his  finger.  "  Get  out,"  he 
said  shortly.  The  man  came  obediently,  feet  first,  hitching  his 
grey  flannel  underclothes  as  he  stood  up.  The  Second  got  into 
the  bunk,  lay  down  and  put  his  feet  against  the  loose  boards  of 
the  top  bunk.  What  followed  was  almost  too  rapid  for  Han- 
nibal to  take  in.  The  body  of  the  Greek  rose  as  though  in  some 
terrible  physical  convulsion,  swayed,  and  fell  over  the  board, 
belly  first,  clothes,  mattress  and  all,  in  one  tumultuous  cascade 
upon  the  floor.  Hannibal  and  the  Norwegian  stepped  back  to 
avoid  the  crash.  For  a  moment  the  malodorous  heap  lay  still. 
A  man  putting  on  his  boots  on  the  other  side  of  the  room  mut- 
tered, "  Jesus  Christ ! "  rose  up  and  slouched  away  on  deck. 
Slowly  the  Greek  raised  himself  to  his  knees,  coughed  and  spat, 
the  saliva  dribbling  in  discoloured  threads  from  his  lips.  He 
looked  round  as  an  ox  looks  round  in  the  pen,  suspicious,  bewil- 
dered, the  whites  of  his  eyes  rolling. 

"  Goin'  to  turn  to  ?  "  asked  the  Second. 

Once  again  the  man  spat,  and  struggled  to  his  feet  blindly. 

"  Serve  you  right,"  said  the  Second,  looking  down  at  the  dis- 
array of  the  bedding.  "  Too  much  whisky,  Angelatos.  Get  busy 
now !     There  you  are !  " 

High  up  in  the  crow's-nest  the  bell  tanged  sharply,  eight 
strokes. 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  385 

And  Hannibal  went  down  to  wash  himself  in  the  stokehold. 

It  was  somewhere  in  that  interminable  crawl  across  the  Indian 
Ocean  from  Durban  to  Sabang  that  he  got  his  first  taste  of 
the  fever  that  seizes  the  Northerner  by  way  of  carelessness. 
Day  after  day  they  followed  the  long  slant  north-easterly,  cross- 
ing the  burning  line  at  an  angle  of  twenty  degrees.  Day  after 
day  the  sun  blazed  down  upon  them,  and  night  followed  night 
in  breathless  succession.  And  then  one  evening  there  came  a 
change.  The  light  air  that  Hannibal  sought  so  eagerly  after 
tea  on  the  forecastle-head,  dropped  entirely,  the  black  smoke  of 
the  Natal  coal  rose  in  a  spectral  column  from  the  funnel-top. 
Up  on  the  bridge  the  white  figures  of  the  Captain  and  Mate 
showed  against  the  teak  wheel-house  where  they  talked.  Out 
of  the  ship's  side  a  great  tin  wind-scoop  could  be  seen  sticking 
from  the  Steward's  room,  twisting  round  and  round  as  he  en- 
deavoured vainly  to  catch  the  slightest  draught.  Late  into  the 
first  watch  Hannibal  lay  up  there  winking  at  the  stars,  turning 
in  hot  discomfort  on  his  pallet,  and  watching  a  black  line  thicken 
and  spread  over  the  horizon.  As  the  hours  crept  past  it  grew, 
a  dense  blackness  like  a  smudge  of  charcoal  on  dark  blue  paper. 
When  he  was  called  at  One  Bell  the  blue  dome  was  blotted  out, 
and  he  had  to  feel  his  way  to  the  ladder.  It  was  about  half- 
past  one,  as  he  stood  under  the  ventilator  in  the  stokehold  drip- 
ping with  sweat  after  cleaning  the  ashpits,  that  he  heard  the  thin 
clear  call  of  the  Chief's  whistle.  As  he  climbed  the  ladders  a 
heavy  blob  of  warm  greasy  rain  smote  his  cheek,  another  fell  on 
his  hand.  The  Chief,  ghostly  in  his  white  sleeping-suit,  was 
standing  by  the  fiddle-top. 

"Yessir?"  asked  Hannibal. 

"  It's  goin'  to  be  some  shower,"  muttered  the  Chief,  taking 
hold  of  his  arm  and  pointing  to  the  skylights.  "  Better  get  up 
and  shut  'em.     Turn  the  ventilators  aft.     Quick !  " 

Hannibal  climbed  quickly,  but  the  rein  was  quicker.  As  he 
thrust  the  first  skylight  lift  hard  down,  it  came.  Each  great 
drop,  as  it  struck  his  vest  and  pants,  seemed  to  pin  it  to  his 
body.  He  bowed  his  head  to  shield  his  eyes,  and  the  rain 
poured  down  his  neck  in  streams.  The  sound  of  it  battering 
on  the  awnings  and  canvas  covers  of  the  lifeboats  was  deafening. 
He  had  to  feel  for  each  lift  as  he  struggled  round.  He  could 
see  the  Third,  far  down  in  the  glittering  radiance  of  the  engine- 
room,  looking  up,  wondering  at  the  noise.     In  less  than  half  a 


386  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

minute  Hannibal  was  as  wet  as  though  he  had  been  dipped  in 
the  sea.  His  boots  were  full,  his  pants  clung  to  his  limbs,  and 
the  rain  ran  from  his  hair  into  his  eyes.  He  jumped  down  to 
the  deck,  felt  for  the  rope  ladder  that  was  lashed  in  the  bunker 
hatch,  and  disappeared,  swaying,  into  the  deeper  darkness  of 
the  coal.     Anywhere  to  get  out  of  the  rain! 

"  Gor  lummy ! "  he  muttered  to  himself,  crouching  on  the 
coal,  and  wondering  how  long  it  would  last.  And  as  he  sat 
there  he  began  to  shiver.  He  tore  off  his  singlet  and  tried  to 
wipe  his  body  with  his  sweat-rag.  He  stripped  and  went  on 
wiping,  his  teeth  chattering.  He  hardly  knew  what  to  do. 
All  his  dry  things  were  in  the  forecastle.  He  went  to  the  lad- 
der and  looked  up.  The  breeze  was  cooler  now,  a  tear  in  the 
black  canopy  showed  a  strip  of  velvet  blue  sky  studded  with 
stars.  He  decided  to  chance  it  before  it  came  on  again,  and 
climbing  up,  he  ran  swiftly  forward,  his  white  body  gleaming  in 
the  darkness.  He  found  a  dry  cotton  vest  and  clean  dungarees 
and  put  them  on.     Certainly  it  had  been  "  some  shower." 

The  next  morning,  when  they  called  him  for  his  breakfast, 
he  lay  on,  shivering  with  cold  and  streaming  with  sweat.  His 
stomach  seemed  tied  into  knots.  The  Second  came  along  and 
looked  at  him,  scratching  his  head.  When  he  asked  what  was 
the  matter,  Hannibal  turned  over  in  utter  weariness  and  said 
he  was  sick.  There  was  something  wrong  with  his  inside.  The 
Second  went  away  and  the  Steward  came,  bringing  the  simple 
therapeutics  of  the  sea.  He  put  a  slim  glass  tube  in  Hannibal's 
mouth  and  told  him  to  keep  it  there  for  a  minute.  When  the 
Steward  took  the  thermometer  out  again  and  looked  at  the  tem- 
perature he  said  "  Sufferm'  Moses !  "  and  ran  away  to  speak  to 
the  Old  Man.  They  returned  together,  white  figures  over- 
whelmingly incongruous  in  the  dim  kennel.  Captain  Briscoe 
looked  down  at  the  youth  lying  motionless  under  the  blanket. 
You  would  not  have  thought,  to  look  at  the  Captain's  immaculate 
drill  suit  with  the  gold  shoulder-straps,  the  white-covered  cap 
with  its  ornate  badge  and  cord,  his  neatly-trimmed  beard,  his 
pipe-clayed  shoes,  that  he  had  lived  many  years  in  the  fore- 
castles of  sailing-ships.  He  stood  looking  down,  his  hands 
clasped  behind  him,  while  the  Steward  tried  the  temperature 
again. 

"  Hundred  and  one  —  hundred  and  two,  now,  sir !  Better 
give  him  the  fever-mixture,  I  should  think." 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  S87 

"  And  a  dose  of  salts/  added  the  Captain.  "  What's  his 
name  ?  "  he  asked  generally. 

Nobody  knew  his  name.  Jan,  lying  in  his  bunk,  leaned  over 
and  looked  down  at  the  young  man. 

"  Hanny,  what's  your  name?"  he  called.  "Captain  wants 
to  know  your  name." 

"  Gooderich,  sir,"  he  whispered,  and  the  Captain  gave  a 
scarcely  perceptible  start. 

"  What's  he  been  doing?  " 

"  In  the  rain,  I  expect,  last  night,"  said  the  Steward.  "  I 
felt  it  on  me  face.     Had  to  shut  the  port,  sir." 

The  Captain  went  out  into  the  daylight  and  walked  up  and 
down  the  bridge  for  an  hour,  pulling  at  his  beard.  Mr.  Cadox- 
ton,  in  exceedingly  fine  raiment  which  he  had  got,  at  great 
expense,  from  a  Liverpool  tailor,  surveyed  the  ocean  with  a  sat- 
isfied smile.  He  was  a  nice-looking  lad,  with  a  complexion  tend- 
ing to  ruddiness  and  freckles  beneath  the  eyes.  His  teeth  were 
white  and  regular  and  he  used  a  manicure  set.  Captain  Briscoe 
had  not  made  up  his  mind  about  Mr.  Cadoxton.  Finding  him 
playing  cards  one  evening  in  the  dog-watch,  he  had  remarked 
that  he  would  be  better  employed  studying  for  his  Master's  ticket. 
This  was  excellent  in  its  way,  only  Mr.  Cadoxton,  who  was  a 
little  older  than  his  clean-shaven  and  fresh-looking  features  be- 
tokened, already  possessed  an  extra-master's  certificate,  and  Cap- 
tain Briscoe  should  have  found  it  out  before.  He  knew,  and 
he  knew  that  Mr.  Cadoxton  knew,  that  he  himself  would  never 
get  an  extra-master's  certificate  if  he  lived  to  be  a  thousand 
years  old.  Mr.  Cadoxton  looked  down  even  on  "  Conway  boys." 
As  he  stepped  jauntily  to  and  fro,  keeping  his  eyes  with  exas- 
perating vigilance  upon  the  empty  horizon,  Captain  Briscoe, 
walking  fore  and  aft  alongside  the  wheel-house,  reflected  with 
some  bitterness  upon  the  puzzling  tangle  of  existence.  He 
would  have  given  fifty  pounds  for  some  one  to  talk  to.  He 
dared  not  open  his  mouth  to  the  Mate,  the  man's  every  movement 
implied  his  unappeasable  hunger  for  promotion.  The  Second 
Mate  was  fat  and  secretive,  and  his  record  was  clouded  by  that 
grotesque  bigamy  charge.  With  the  curious  contrariness  of  hu- 
man proclivities,  Captain  Briscoe  desired  greatly  the  confidence 
of  Mr.  Cadoxton.  He  felt  that  the  young  man  had  the  inde- 
finable requisites  of  gentility;  his  voice  betrayed  him  when  he 
spoke  of  "  my  people."     Captain  Briscoe,  with  an  effort,  remem- 


388  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

bered  to  lay  his  knife  and  fork  together  before  the  Steward 
removed  the  plate.  Mr.  Cadoxton  did  it  without  remembering, 
just  as  he  took  his  soup  from  the  further  edge.  Captain  Briscoe 
had  every  reason  to  hate  the  young  man,  and  did  hate  him  at 
times,  and  yet  he  felt  that  if  only  they  could  gain  one  another's 
confidence  in  some  trivial  accidental  way,  he  might  derive  com- 
fort from  the  circumstance.  They  approached  each  other  auto- 
matically in  their  walk,  and  Mr.  Cadoxton  withdrew  his  eyes 
from  the  ocean. 

"  The  Steward  tells  me  there's  a  trimmer  sick,  sir,"  he  re- 
marked in  his  small  refined  voice. 

"  A  touch  of  fever,"  assented  Captain  Briscoe.  "  It's  a  very 
curious  coincidence,"  he  went  on,  "  that  young  feller's  name  is 
the  same  as  my  wife's." 

"  Is  that  so,  sir  ?  It  is  curious,  certainly.  We  all  have  poor 
relations  somewhere." 

Captain  Briscoe  thought  this  an  excellent  notion,  and  dem- 
ocratic. 

"  A  matter  we  can't  be  held  responsible  for,"  he  suggested. 

"  Of  course.  It  may  be  only  a  coincidence  though :  I  have 
heard  the  name  before.  That's  the  chap  who  was  in  the  mess- 
room,  I  think." 

"  That's  him." 

"  Very  decent  young  chap,  sir.  I  spoke  to  him  about  the  boat- 
drill  last  Saturday  and  he  was  very  civil.  Most  unusual  in  the 
firemen  class." 

"  I  can't  say,"  said  the  Old  Man  — "  I  can't  say  as  I'd  like 
to  have  anybody  belonging  to  me  in  the  forecastle,  nowadays. 
Still,  I  don't  know  anything  against  it,  if  the  man's  respect- 
able." 

"  Not  at  all.  A  man  isn't  responsible  for  the  others.  But 
why  don't  you  ask  him,  sir?  Has  Mrs.  Briscoe  mentioned  any 
of  her  relations  who  follow  the  sea  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  the  Captain,  taking  out  a  cigar.     "  She  didn't." 

"  Perhaps  he's  one  of  the  independent  sort,  quarrelled  with 
his  people,  perhaps." 

"Maybe.     What  is  it,  Chief?" 

The  Chief,  in  his  suit  of  blotched  khaki  with  the  brass  but- 
tons enamelled  with  verdigris,  stood  looking  up  at  them.  He 
pointed  to  the  forecastle. 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  389 

"  Oh,  he'll  be  all  right  to-morrow,  Chief.  Put  'em  on  six- 
hour  watches,"  and  the  Chief  walked  slowly  back  to  the  after- 
deck. 

"You  think  he's  quarrelled,  eh?" 

"  I  had  a  cousin  who  went  to  Canada,"  remarked  Mr.  Cadox- 
ton,  reaching  for  the  binoculars  in  the  box  by  the  telegraph. 
"  And  I  believe  he  did  something  of  the  sort.  Left  the  Army 
and  went  out  for  good." 

"  Fireman?  "  asked  the  Captain  hopefully. 

"  Oh,  much  worse,  sir.  I  believe  he's  a  billiard-marker  in  a 
club." 

Captain  Briscoe  resumed  his  walk.  The  long  voyage  was  tell- 
ing on  his  nerves.  Fifty  days  out,  and  still  they  crawled  in  an 
unbroken  circle  of  cobalt  blue.  They  were  making,  according 
to  orders,  for  Sabang,  a  new  coaling  station  somewhere  in  the 
north  of  Sumatra.  This  was  the  second  time  they  had  crossed 
the  line.  Twice  more  they  would  have  to  pass  that  mystic 
circle  ere  they  started  northward  up  the  China  Sea.  He  reflected 
with  impatience  upon  the  absurd  regulations  of  the  Canal  which 
made  case-oil  prohibitive  if  carried  on  that  route.  In  Sabang  he 
would  get  coal  and  fresh  meat,  and  what  was  more  important, 
letters.  He  had  had  a  letter  in  Durban,  a  brief  scribble  with- 
out any  of  the  luxuriant  language  of  newly-wedded  lo,ve  and 
therefore  unsatisfying.  She  said  she  was  busy  with  her  flat, 
had  joined  a  women's  club,  would  write  more  next  time.  He 
could  not  help  being  proud  of  the  stylish  handwriting,  the  em- 
bossed lettering  of  the  address,  the  thick  square  envelope.  She 
knew  how  to  do  things  all  right.  But  he  longed  for  a  little 
gush.  Was  it  anyway  possible  she  disliked  being  called  his  own 
dear  darling  little  wife?  A  warm  flush  of  vexation  came  over 
his  face,  and  he  went  down  to  get  a  peg  of  whisky. 

Two  or  three  days  of  breathless  inaction  and  semi-starvation, 
racked  by  diarrhoea  and  headache,  and  Hannibal  crawled  out 
into  the  daylight  again.  The  Second  told  him  to  take  it  easy, 
and  gave  him  a  stiff  dose  of  whisky.  It  did  him  good,  though 
he  found  the  shovel  strangely  heavy,  and  often  he  would  grow 
dizzy  and  have  to  lie  on  the  hatch  with  his  face  on  his  arm, 
exhausted.  Swansea  seemed  a  long  way  off.  Was  she  thinking 
of  him?  He  hoped  so.  He  found  now,  in  his  weakness,  that 
tears  came  easily.     He  was  sorry  for  himself.     And  one  night 


890  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

as  he  sat  in  the  cool  breeze  that  blew  from  the  Nicobars,  he 
heard  the  mates  and  engineers  in  the  Second  Mate's  room  sing- 
ing "  Rolling  Home  " :  — 

Rollin'  home,  rollin'  home, 
Rollin'  home,  rollin'  home, 

Rollin'  home  —  across  —  the  sea. 
Rollin'  home  to  dear  old  England, 

Rollin'  home  —  dear  heart  —  to  thee! 

He  felt  a  terrible  pain  in  his  chest,  and  the  tears  came  unbid- 
den to  his  eyes.  He  heard  a  growl  from  some  one  of  them, 
overwrought. 

"  For  the  Lord's  sake  sing  something  else !  I  can't  stand 
it !  "     And  Hannibal  understood  perfectly. 

Twenty-eight  days  after  they  had  quitted  Durban,  the  Caryatid, 
rounding  Acheen  Head,  passed  slowly  into  the  land-locked  har- 
bour of  Sabang  and  made  fast  to  the  white  timbers  of  the  jetty. 
Angelatos  went  to  the  door  of  the  forecastle  as  the  Mate  shouted, 
"  Make  fast !  "  and  looked  round,  licking  his  lips.  He  had  been 
this  way  before,  had  Angelatos,  and  he  knew  that  gin  was  a 
shilling  a  bottle. 


XVII 

IT  was  the  end  of  the  day,  and  the  Caryatid  lay  off  in  the 
middle  of  the  land-locked  harbour.  From  where  Captain 
Briscoe  sat  in  his  deck-chair  no  break  could  be  distinguished 
in  the  high,  densely-wooded  hills  that  enclosed  the  sheet 
of  waveless  water  in  which  he  laid  moored.  It  was  as  though 
some  mad  millionaire  had  brought  a  great  ship  over  the  moun- 
tains and  launched  her  on  his  ornamental  lake.  Here  and  there 
in  the  velvety  gloom  a  light  hung,  a  drop  of  liquid  yellow.  The 
riding  light  shed  a  pale  glare  on  the  forward  awnings.  For  the 
rest,  it  was  darkness  save  for  the  dim  light  of  the  stars.  The 
oil-lamps  in  the  chart-house  failed  to  penetrate  the  curtains. 
Captain  Briscoe,  in  his  pyjamas,  his  pipe  gone  out,  lay  in  his 
deck-chair  and  stared  out  moodily  towards  the  bows.  He  was 
distraught  in  more  ways  than  one.  The  owners  had  cabled,  coun- 
selling speed,  and  he  had  cabled  back  diplomatically,  regretting 
a  non-existent  delay.  That  was  bad,  on  his  first  voyage  in  a 
bigger  ship.  What  was  worse,  he  had  received  another  brief 
letter  from  Minnie.  She  was  busy  and  could  not  think  of  a 
great  deal  to  tell  him.  Throwing  down  the  letter  petulantly  he 
had  torn  open  the  newspaper,  one  of  those  bulky  weekly  journals 
that  appeal  more  particularly  to  the  love  of  the  dramatic  and 
spectacular  in  human  beings.  On  the  front  sheet  was  an  article 
with  big  headlines  relating  the  successful  and  burglarious  entry 
of  some  suffragettes  into  the  House  of  Commons.  Captain  Bris- 
coe regarded  the  suffragettes  very  much  as  he  regarded  Dagos, 
with  loathing  and  contempt.  He  felt  they  ought  to  be  crushed 
with  an  iron  hand.  If,  he  argued,  a  woman  was  a  woman,  she 
would  never  do  the  things  these  hermaphrodite  beings  did  so 
persistently  and  publicly.  Mr.  Cadoxton  had  agreed  with  him 
in  this.  He  read  on,  trying  to  interest  himself  in  the  paper, 
when  he  came  to  the  list  of  the  prisoners  who  had  been  hand- 
cuffed after  a  stiff  struggle  with  the  police.  With  something 
like  paralysis  numbing  his  brain,  he  had  seen  Minnie  Briscoe  on 
the  printed  page,  and  had  let  the  paper  drop. 

At  tea-time  he  had  sat  there  at  the  head  of  the  cabin-table, 

391 


392  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

seeing  nothing,  eating  nothing.  With  a  certain  sense  of  relief 
he  saw  that  Mr.  Cadoxton  was  absent,  taking  watch  on  deck. 
What  was  he  to  do?  He  wanted  to  run  away  and  hide  him- 
self. He  felt  that  if  he  could  only  go  out  and  kill  something 
it  would  ease  the  agony  of  mind.  They  would  all  see  it. 
Every  one  would  have  a  look  at  the  papers.  He  had  a  wild 
notion  of  going  round  and  stealing  them  from  the  different  rooms. 
He  turned  again  and  again,  when  he  reached  his  room,  to  the 
vile  rag  that  had  recorded  this  hateful  thing.  There  it  was, 
"  Minnie  Briscoe,  303  Tedworth  Square,  S.W."  She,  his  wife, 
was  in  prison! 

So  far,  he  reflected  as  he  sat  in  his  chair,  sucking  at  a  cold 
pipe,  so  far,  thank  God,  he  had  seen  no  hint  of  any  suspicion  in 
the  faces  of  the  others.  But  to-morrow,  and  the  days  to  come! 
His  hands  clutched  as  he  thought  of  it.  And  on  top  of  this, 
the  trouble  with  the  men.  Gin  was  a  shilling  a  bottle  in  this 
place,  and  somehow,  in  spite  of  his  care,  they  had  got  it.  The 
Chief  had  told  him  laconically  that  steam  was  impossible  until 
the  men  came  round.  They  lay  in  an  abysmal  stupor;  nothing 
could  be  done.  Only  one,  that  young  chap  out  of  the  mess-room, 
was  doing  his  best  with  the  Third  and  Fourth  to  clean  one  or 
two  fires  during  the  night.  Captain  Briscoe  thought  bitterly 
that  he  need  have  no  cause  to  look  down  on  the  young  man  now 
—  he  was  at  least  respectable.  He  rose  from  his  chair  and  went 
down  the  ladder,  leaving  the  Third  Mate  leaning  over  the  rail. 
Hannibal  stood  by  the  fiddle-grating,  cooling  himself  after  a 
turn  with  the  shovel.  He  felt  rather  uplifted  by  the  fact  that 
he  was  the  only  fireman  sober.  It  had  been  a  wild  time  in  the 
forecastle  that  afternoon.  Men  had  drunk  themselves  mad. 
Angelatos  had  grown  furious  with  a  big  red-haired  Liverpool 
Irishman,  had  lunged  forward  with  a  bottle  in  his  hand  and  gone 
down  with  a  crash  against  the  bulkhead.  Jan  was  drunk  too, 
and  it  took  a  lot  of  gin  to  make  him  drunk.  Hannibal  saw  the 
Old  Man  pass  into  the  cabin,  and  went  over  to  the  hatch  to  sit 
down.  The  Fourth  would  call  him  if  he  wanted  him.  He  had 
had  a  letter  from  Nellie,  a  real  letter,  full  of  cheery  gossip  from 
his  own  love-a-duck.  Another  from  his  mother  did  not  contain 
much  news.  Mrs.  Gooderich  had  not  felt  able  to  explain  what 
had  happened  to  Minnie.  When  you  come  to  think  of  it,  it  was 
rather  a  difficult  thing  to  explain  to  a  boy,  as  Mrs.  Gooderich 
still  thought  him  to  be.     As  he  sat  there  thinking  of  all  that 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  393 

had  happened  since  he  had  left  the  Little  Brown  Box,  he  became 
aware  of  two  crouching  figures  moving  across  the  dim  whiteness 
of  the  cabin  bulkhead.  They  paused  at  the  entry,  gesticulating 
in  the  darkness.  Perhaps  they  wanted  the  Steward.  He  didn't 
know.  Why  should  he  bother?  He  had  plenty  to  do.  And  as 
he  was  asking  himself  why  he  should  bother,  he  heard  a  thud, 
and  a  growl. 

He  rose  up  and  went  on  tiptoe  to  the  cabin  door.  At  the  far 
end  of  the  white  panelled  alley-way  was  a  swaying  curtain.  He 
heard  a  struggling  sound,  and  a  smothered  "  Ouch "  and  an 
imprecation.  He  went  in  feeling  his  way  along  the  wall,  leaving 
black  finger-marks  on  the  glossy  enamel,  and  drew  the  curtain. 

It  was  the  Captain's  room.  The  oil-lamp  was  turned  down 
low  by  the  broad  bunk.  Across  the  room,  just  in  front  of  a 
mahogany  locker,  were  three  men  locked  together.  Captain 
Briscoe's  sleeping  suit  showed  up  against  the  dark  forms  of  the 
other  two,  who  were  on  their  knees  in  a  curiously  bowed  attitude. 
His  arms  were  about  their  necks,  and  he  was  striving  to  crush 
them  down.  One  of  them  had  worked  his  arm  loose,  and  wrapped 
it  around  the  Captain's  neck.  So  they  strove  there,  almost  in 
silence,  rocking  to  and  fro. 

The  sound  of  the  Third  Mate's  footsteps  in  the  ladder  roused 
Hannibal  to  action.  He  turned  and  beckoned,  and  then  ran  in 
and  seized  the  fireman's  arms.  Mr.  Cadoxton  followed  him  pre- 
cipitately. He  had  been  dozing  and  dreaming  of  the  pleasant 
Leicestershire  country,  when  he  heard  the  first  thump  below 
him. 

"What's  up,  sir?"  he  called,  and  threw  himself  upon  the 
man's  neck.  Freed  from  the  embrace  the  Old  Man  sprang  to 
his  feet  and  dealt  the  man  blow  after  blow  in  the  neck  and 
face.  For  an  instant  he  was  mad,  and  struck  blindly,  but  the 
Third  Mate's  voice  recalled  him.     He  paused. 

"  Get  the  handcuffs,"  he  ordered  briefly.  "  And  call  the 
Mate."  The  men  rose  to  their  feet,  cowed  and  noiseless.  Han- 
nibal saw  with  amazement  that  one  of  them  was  Jan. 

The  Mate  came  hurrying  in  with  the  shining  steel  things  in 
his  hands.  Captain  Briscoe  turned  up  the  lamp.  He  seemed 
relieved  by  the  exertion.  His  face  was  calm  as  he  turned  to  the 
men. 

"  Mr.  Hutchins,"  he  said  to  the  Mate,  "  handcuff  these  men 
and  put  them  in  the  lazaret.     In  the  morning  I  log  them  for 


394  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

breaking  into  the  spirit-locker.  Mr.  Cadoxton,  you're  a  witness 
of  this.     You!"  he  said  to  Hannibal.     "You  saw  this,  eh?" 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  heard  a  noise  as  I  was  sitting  on  the  hatch." 

"  Take  them  out  of  it,"  ordered  the  Captain.  "  And  call  the 
Steward  to  put  the  place  straight." 

To  Hannibal,  standing  in  that  unaccustomed  privacy,  there 
was  something  horrible  in  the  submissively  extended  wrists  of 
the  two  men  who  had  been  bludgeoned  into  a  craven  acceptance 
of  manacled  seclusion.  And  one  of  them  was  Jan,  the  man  he 
had  been  ashore  with,  his  chum  in  a  way,  and  not  a  bad  fellow  at 
all.  As  the  Mate  led  the  men  away  and  Mr.  Cadoxton  followed, 
he  remained  standing  on  the  soft  red  carpet.  The  Captain 
turned  and  saw  him.  Checking  a  gesture  of  dismissal  he  looked 
the  young  man  over. 

"  See  what  it  does  for  a  man ! "  he  remarked,  feeling  for  a 
bruise  near  his  eye.     "  Keep  away  from  it." 

"  I  do,  sir.     Never  take  much.     Makes  me  'ead  ache." 

"  Good  for  you.     What's  your  name  ?  " 

"  Gooderich." 

"Oh."  The  Captain  went  over  to  a  little  mahogany  table 
and  took  a  fountain  pen  and  paper.     "  You  belong  to  London  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Any  relations  there  ?  " 

"  Yes,  mother  and  sister." 

"Sister,  eh?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

There  was  a  pause.  Hannibal's  eyes  came  away  from  the 
table  and  met  the  Captain's  squarely.  The  Captain  went  over 
and  took  the  door  off  the  hook.  The  Steward  came  in  with  a 
run  as  the  Captain  was  closing  it. 

"  Never  mind,  Steward,"  he  said.  "  Clean  it  up  in  the  morn- 
ing.    I've  changed  my  mind."     And  he  shut  the  door. 

"  Now,"  he  said.  "  You  did  me  a  good  turn  coming  in  here 
just  now." 

"  It  was  the  Third  Mate,  sir." 

"  Yes,  you  did,  and  I'm  going  to  do  you  a  bad  turn  in  pay- 
ment for  it.  Don't  you  know  anything  about  your  sister  at 
all?" 

"  Just  a  bit,  sir.  We  never  'ad  much  truck  with  each  other 
since  I  was  a  kid." 

"You  know,  then?" 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  395 

"  Something,  sir." 

"  You  know  what  she  used  to  be  —  when  I  first  knew  her?  " 

Hannibal  looked  down,  his  hands  behind  him,  vaguely  dis- 
turbed. 

"  I  didn't,"  he  muttered  at  length.  "  But  I  can  make  a  pretty 
good  guess." 

M  And  do  you  know  where  she  is  now  ?  " 

"  Married,  sir." 

"  She's  my  wife !  " 

"  That's  right,  sir." 

"  And  do  you  know  what  she's  done  since  we  left  home?  " 

"I  —  I  haven't  'eard,  sir.  My  mother  don't  say  much  about 
'cr.     She's  almost  a  stranger  to  me,"  he  pleaded  in  a  low  voice. 

"  Look  here !  "  And  Captain  Briscoe  held  up  the  newspaper. 
"  She's  in  jail.  My  wife  and  your  sister  in  jail.  That's  a  nice 
thing  to  have  coming  after  fifty-six  days  at  sea."  Holding  the 
paper  to  the  light  Hannibal  read  the  particulars  of  the  raid 
and  the  ensuing  arraignments. 

*' A  nice  thing!"  muttered  the  Captain,  feeling  the  bruise 
swelling  beneath  his  eye. 

"  And  then  this  on  top  of  it.     My  God !  " 

He  turned,  and  putting  up  his  hands  on  either  side  of  the 
port,  looked  out.  A  black  mark  ran  across  his  shoulders  where 
the  man's  arm  had  laid  hold  of  him. 

Hannibal  put  the  paper  down  and  looked  round  in  a  scared 
way.  The  moment  was  beyond  him.  He  couldn't  express  what 
he  felt  save  that  he  was  sorry  for  the  Old  Man.  This  man 
had  been  kind  to  him,  had  given  him  a  job.  He  was,  moreover, 
his  brother-in-law.  That  was  what  staggered  him.  All  these 
months  they  had  been  within  a  hundred  feet  of  one  another  and 
no  words  spoken.  What  a  strange  world  it  was!  And  his  sis- 
ter, the  quiet-eyed  girl  who  used  to  take  him  with  her  to  the 
Botany  Class  in  Trinity  Road,  in  jail! 

"  What  is  to  be  done,  sir?  "  he  asked  in  a  low  voice. 

"  I  don't  know.  Upon  my  soul,  I  don't  know.  Only  this. 
Keep  your  mouth  shut,  do  you  hear  ?  " 

"  I  ain't  likely  to  blab,"  Hannibal  said,  surprised. 

"See  you  when  we  get  home,  understand?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  You  see  what  this  means  to  me?"  He  ceased  abruptly,  a 
look  of   fear  coming  into  his  eyes  as  though  he  himself  were 


896  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

only  just  then  seeing  what  it  meant  to  him.  His  trim  beard 
was  twisted  around  his  set  mouth,  his  pyjamas  had  lost  a  button 
or  two,  and  revealed  the  hairy  chest,  faintly  tattooed  with  red 
and  green  markings,  a  heart,  hands  clasped,  a  Union  Jack. 

"  I  won't  say  anything  to  anybody,"  said  Hannibal.  "  It's 
a  mixed-up  business,  I  can  see  that,  for  you." 

"  I'll  have  to  cable,"  the  Old  Man  muttered,  staring  at  Han- 
nibal. "What  shall  I  cable?  I  must  think.  But  it's  all  over 
now.     They'll  get  six  months.     We'll  be  home  by  then.     God !  " 

There  came  a  knock  at  the  door.  It  must  have  been  low 
enough,  but  it  sounded  like  the  crack  of  doom  to  the  two  stand- 
ing within.  The  Captain  went  over  and  opened  the  door.  The 
Chief,  looking  as  though  he  were  deliberating  upon  some  stu- 
pendous problem,  stood  on  the  mat.     He  raised  his  eyes. 

"  Trouble  ?  "  he  asked,  feeling  in  his  pocket  for  matches. 

"  Oh,  Chief,  come  in.  I've  been  taking  this  man's  evidence. 
He  came  in  after  those  two  toughs  and  assisted  me.  All  right, 
you,"  he  said  briskly.     "  You'll  sign  the  log  in  the  morning." 

Hannibal  stepped  out  into  the  alley-way  and  the  door  closed. 

"  Trouble?  "  the  Old  Man  whispered,  taking  the  Chief's  arm. 
"  Don't  it  take  the  biscuit  ?  Here  we've  come  twenty-eight  days 
without  a  break,  saving  coal,  as  they  told  us,  and  they  want  to 
know  where  we've  been.  And  then  this  on  top  of  it.  This 
means  twelve  hours  lost." 

"  Gin's  too  cheap,"  said  the  Chief,  putting  the  match  care- 
fully in  the  ash-tray.  "  I've  been  along.  Fo'c'sle's  like  a  pig- 
sty.    Stinks.     Hell  let  loose.     I'd  jail  them  if  I  was  you." 

At  the  word  jail  the  Old  Man  looked  hard  at  the  Chief,  who 
was  staring  at  the  wall.  "Jail,"  he  whispered,  and  said  no 
more. 

"  You've  got  a  bat  in  the  eye  ?  "  asked  the  Chief,  looking  at 
him  for  a  moment. 

"  Isn't  it  a  hell  of  a  life  ?  "  snarled  the  other,  suddenly  raging. 
"  Isn't  it  a  beautiful  life  ?  Here  am  I,  lying  on  my  bed  worried 
enough  with  one  thing  and  another,  God  knows,  and  those  scum 
crawl  across  the  room  to  the  whisky."  He  tore  the  pyjama 
jacket  from  his  body  and  flung  it  in  a  corner. 

"Jump  on  'em?"  enquired  Mr.  Hopkins. 

"  I  landed  right  on  top  of  them,  and  by  God,  I'd  have  killed 
one  of  them  if  nobody'd  come  in.     And  been  sorry  for  it ! "  he 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  397 

added,  stepping,  nude  and  shaking  with  anger,  to  a  chest  of 
drawers. 

"All  they're  fit  for,"  growled  the  Chief,  going  towards  the 
door. 

u  Hold  on,  wait  till  I  get  some  clothes.  Have  a  peg?  It's 
on  the  locker." 

"  Get  any  letters  ?  "  asked  the  Chief,  pouring  some  whisky 
into  a  glass.     The  Captain  came  up  to  him  and  poured  another. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  drinking. 

"All  right  at  home?" 

The  Captain  reached  up  for  a  cigar-box  and  selected  a  cheroot. 
He  turned  the  light  down  till  it  was  a  blue  shadow  in  the  shell 
of  the  burner. 

"  So  damned  hot,"  he  said  huskily.  *'  Sit  down,  Chief.  I've 
got  to  tell  you  something,  about  my  wife.  You  may  hear  from 
some  lying  hobo  who'll  put  all  sorts  of  frills  on  it.  I  can  trust 
you  to  keep  mum,  can't  I  ?  " 

Mr.  Hopkins,  drawing  steadily  at  his  pipe,  grunted  and  in- 
clined his  ear. 

"  The  fact  is,"  went  on  the  Captain,  "  my  wife's  got  some 
peculiar  ideas.  She's  taken  up  with  the  Suffragette  business  and 
there's  been  some  trouble.  She  got  run  in  with  a  lot  of  others, 
and  there  you  are.  You  can  understand  of  course,  it's  only  a 
case  of  her  being  led  on." 

"  I  saw  it,"  said  the  Chief,  staring  at  the  carpet. 

"  You  saw  it!  "  repeated  the  Old  Man,  drawing  back.  "  Then 
why  in  thunder  didn't  you  say  so?  " 

"  No  business  o'  mine." 

Captain  Briscoe  sucked  at  his  cigar. 

"They've  all  seen  it,  then?" 

"No.     What  of  it?" 

"  Suppose  it  was  your  wife.     Think  of  it  —  handcuffed !  " 

"  Say  nothing." 

*'  It's  all  I  can  say.  I  only  told  you  in  confidence.  I've  got 
to  speak  to  somebody.     I'd  go  mad  if  I  didn't,  Chief." 

"  It'll  pass.  This  business  will  make  'em  forget  it.  You're 
making  too  much  of  it." 

A  silence  fell  upon  them,  and  they  sat  there  in  the  dark- 
ness, each  thinking,  in  his  own  way,  of  the  tremendous  problems 
that  beset  them  whenever  they  touched  the  land.     All  real  trouble 


398  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

came  to  them  from  ashore.  Mr.  Hopkins,  turning  over  in  his 
mind  a  certain  mortgage,  almost  regretted  the  necessity  for  receiv- 
ing letters  at  all.  Captain  Briscoe  sought  relief  from  his  pres- 
ent disorder  in  reflecting  upon  the  easy  way  in  which  sailormen 
were  fooled.  Everybody  fooled  them  —  owners,  ship-chandlers, 
house-agents,  charterers,  women,  everybody!  Fooled  them  and 
forgot  them.  He  found  himself  back  at  the  old  point  again. 
Minnie  had  forgotten  him,  else  why  had  she  not  written  to  him 
in  her  trouble?  He  stirred  uneasily  on  the  red-plush  cushion  as 
this  new  grievance  flooded  his  mind.  As  though  he  understood, 
as  perhaps  he  did,  for  he  understood  more  than  he  could  express, 
Mr.  Hopkins  put  his  hand  on  the  Old  Man's  arm. 

"  Wait,  wait,"  he  muttered.  "  You're  all  worked  up.  Turn 
in  and  sleep.     You  can't  do  anything." 

He  stood  up,  and  the  room  filled  suddenly  with  dazzling 
radiance. 

"  He's  got  some  steam,"  remarked  Mr.  Hopkins.  "  We'll  get 
away  at  daylight.     Good  night." 

He  went  away  quietly,  and  Captain  Briscoe,  turning  out  all 
the  electric  lights  save  one  by  the  bed,  sat  for  a  long  time  at 
his  table,  his  chin  on  his  hands.  Gradually  the  tide  turned,  and 
a  semblance  of  peace  came  into  his  eyes. 

"  No,"  he  said  to  himself  gently,  as  though  in  answer  to  a 
voiceless  query.  "  No,  she's  mine.  I  took  her,  knowing  what 
she  was.  Some  day  I'll  stay  ashore  and  look  after  her.  A  little 
house  in  the  country,  with  honeysuckle  and  bees.  God!  The 
years  I've  worked!  I  don't  ask  much,  eh?  Just  a  few  years, 
and  a  few  things  some  men  have  all  the  time.  Surely  she'll 
understand.     She's  cleverer  than  me,  she'll  understand." 

It  was  midnight  when  he  rose,  and  the  habit  of  years  sent 
him  up  on  the  bridge  to  have  a  last  look  round.  The  Third 
and  Second  Mates  stood  in  the  shadow  of  the  awning,  talking 
earnestly  together.     They  fell  apart  as  he  came  up. 

"  All  right,  Mr.  Brail?  "  he  asked. 

"  All  quiet,  sir."  , 

"  Call  me  at  four  o'clock,"  he  ordered.  "  I'm  going  to  turn 
in." 

"  Very  good,  sir." 

He  went  in  again,  and  lying  down  on  his  bed  he  extinguished 
the  light  and  fell  into  a  tumbled  sleep. 


XVIII 

THEY  had  been  out  two  days  from  Sabang,  when  Han- 
nibal, hanging  over  the  side  of  the  starboard  bunker- 
hatch,  discovered  it.  He  had  come  up  for  his  two  o'clock 
spell  and  a  faint  breeze  blew  off  the  mountains  of 
Sumatra  and  fanned  his  face.  His  body  was  naked  to  the  waist, 
a  black  sweat-rag  hung  like  a  rope's-end  around  his  neck,  and  he 
spat  inkily  into  the  blue  water  that  lapped  the  rusty  and  peeling 
plates.  Without  knowing  exactly  why,  he  found  himself  wait- 
ing for  the  occasional  wavelet  that  reached  the  starboard  strake 
and  ran  aft  with  a  nicker  and  a  scarcely  perceptible  hiss.  He 
bent  his  head  lower  and  watched  carefully.  The  next  time  the 
slight  heel  of  the  ship  aided  the  ripple,  the  immersion  was 
deeper,  the  hiss  unmistakable.  He  got  down  on  his  knees  and 
felt  the  ship's  side.  Hot,  yes,  but  not  so  hot  as  all  that.  There 
it  went  again.  He  waited  until  the  ship  rolled  to  starboard 
again  and  watched.  This  time  he  saw  it  for  certain.  It  was 
steam. 

He  stood  up  again  and  tried  to  think  what  to  do.  He  was  a 
man  now  and  he  wanted  to  make  sure.  Where  could  he  get 
another  view  of  that  bunker?  He  went  down  the  ladder  and 
saw  with  disappointment  that  he  could  not  get  to  the  inboard 
side  of  it.  It  was  too  near  the  funnel.  But  the  bottom  of  it, 
he  reflected,  would  be  the  ceiling  of  the  engine-room  down  below, 
over  the  forced-draught  fan.  He  descended  and  passed  under 
the  boilers  into  the  engine-room.  The  Third  was  standing  undei 
the  windsail,  whistling:     "  That's  how  I  need  you." 

"Hello,"  he  said,  "what's  to  do?" 

Hannibal's  eyes  wandered  about  the  ceiling  over  the  fan  and 
dynamo,  and  the  Third  looked  at  him  in  some  surprise. 

"  Say,  mister,"  remarked  the  young  man,  raising  a  black  arm, 
"  what's  up  above  that  there." 

"  Coal,  my  child.  Stabbord  engine-room  pocket.  Want 
some?"  But  Hannibal  had  run  three  steps,  and  stopped,  look- 
ing up  at  the  smudge  on  the  white  paint. 

"  Can  you  get  up  there  ?  "   he  asked.     This  time  the  Third 

399 


400  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

saw  the  smudge  and  understood.  In  three  springs  he  was  on  the 
fan,  another,  and  he  was  hanging  to  a  stringer  within  the  reach 
of  the  smudge.  He  touched  it,  and  withdrew  his  head  quickly. 
He  dropped  down  beside  Hannibal  and  took  up  the  telephone. 

"  It's  the  Third,  sir.     Come  down  for  a  minute." 

"  Is  it?  "  asked  Hannibal. 

"  Stinkin',"  replied  the  Third.  "  Now  be  a  man,  and  say 
nothing  to  anybody.  This  is  a  business  for  the  Chief.  What 
made  you  come  in  here  ?  " 

"  Saw  the  sea  spitting  on  the  side,  sir." 

"  Bully  for  you !     Here  comes  the  Chief." 

He  came,  incredibly  agile  for  so  phlegmatic  a  man,  four  steps 
at  a  leap,  swinging  by  the  hand-rails  like  a  monkey. 

"  What's  to  do,"  he  asked,  and  the  Third  pointed. 

"  Put  the  Sanitary  pump  on  deck.  You  go  and  take  the 
hatches  off  quick,"  he  added  to  Hannibal. 

As  Hannibal  knocked  the  wedges  from  the  cleats  and  let  the 
battens  clatter  on  the  deck,  the  Captain  paused  in  his  walk  on 
the  bridge  and  looked  along  at  him.  When  the  tarpaulins  were 
folded  back  and  the  hatch  lifted,  and  he  saw  Hannibal  fall  away 
from  the  opening,  Captain  Briscoe  came  down  quickly. 

"  Eh?  "  he  said,  bending  over  and  touching  the  coal.  "  What's 
the  matter  ?  " 

"  Chief  told  me  to  take  it  off,  sir." 

A  thin  lazy  thread  of  smoke  crept  out  from  among  the  lumps 
of  fuel  and  blew  away.  The  Chief  came  along  from  the  engine- 
room.  He  had  relapsed  into  his  wonted  taciturnity.  He  looked 
at  the  thread  of  smoke  and  searched  for  matches. 

"  Going  good,"  he  commented. 

With  a  great  slither  the  fire-hose  was  flung  across  the  saddle- 
back hatch  abaft  the  funnel,  and  began  to  straighten  out  with 
the  urging  of  the  water.     The  Chief  put  it  into  the  coal. 

Soon  they  were  all  there.  Bosun  and  mates,  carpenter,  engi- 
neers, all  craning  their  necks  to  look  at  the  hatch.  The  two 
apprentices,  painting  the  ice  box  aft,  looked  on  from  afar  with 
an  agony  of  curiosity.     Everybody  knew  it  inside  of  five  minutes. 

"  Who  discovered  it  ?  "  asked  the  Captain. 

"  The  Third  told  me,"  said  Mr.  Hopkins,  resenting  the  crowd 
about  him. 

"  The  trimmer  noticed  the  ship's  side  was  hot." 

Immediately    the    rail    was    adorned    with    downward-looking 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  401 

heads.  Hannibal  felt  self-conscious  and  rather  glad.  It  is  nice 
to  feel  you  are  some  use  after  all.  Captain  Briscoe  spoke  low 
to  the  Chief. 

"  All  right,"  the  latter  nodded.  "  The  best  way  is  to  wet  it 
and  try  to  smother  it.  Go  down,"  he  said  to  the  Fourth.  "  Go 
down  and  ease  the  pump.  And  tell  the  Third  to  watch  his  star- 
board bilges." 

Later  in  the  day  it  became  known  that  the  fire  was  inex- 
tinguishable. Down  there  in  the  coal  somewhere  the  combustible 
stuff  had  fretted  into  flame,  and  was  burning  with  a  dull  solid 
glow,  spreading,  as  they  could  tell  by  the  hiss  of  the  strake 
further  forward  and  the  discolouration  of  the  ceiling  in  the 
engine-room.  Rumours  passed  to  and  fro  that  they  would  have 
to  stop.  Mr.  Cadoxton  spoke  of  Singapore,  and  the  Third  Engi- 
neer gave  a  touch  of  science  to  the  deliberation  by  mentioning 
spontaneous  combustion.  At  the  end  of  the  day  Singapore  had 
become  a  certainty.  They  could  not  afford  to  pass  a  British 
port  like  this ;  stories  of  oil  ships  on  fire  were  at  a  premium  after 
tea. 

It  was  something  to  talk  about,  at  any  rate. 

Hannibal  came  into  the  engine-room  soon  after  midnight  to 
fill  his  slush-lamp,  and  the  Third  told  him  they'd  be  in  Singa- 
pore by  dinner-time.  The  name  seemed  familiar  to  him.  Of 
course!  That  was  where  Hiram's  ship,  the  Cygnet,  had  been 
bound.  It  all  came  back  to  him.  The  picture  of  the  ship  in 
the  office  in  Billiter  Lane.  The  drone  of  the  traffic  out  in 
Fenchurch  Street,  the  twittering  of  the  canaries,  the  ding- 
clash  of  the  cash  register.  How  infinitely  far  off  that  life 
seemed  now!  He  could  not  help  smiling  as  he  recalled  his 
dream  of  distant  lands.  Well,  it  was  not  so  bad.  It  was 
different,  certainly,  from  what  he  had  imagined  it,  yet  he  was 
not  disappointed.  He  was  a  man  now,  among  men.  Not  so 
dusty  either,  when  he  came  to  think  of  it.  He  had  savvy,  they 
said,  at  the  mess-room  table,  and  the  Third  treated  him  with 
cautious  familiarity.  Hannibal  laughed  when  Singapore  was 
mentioned,  "  'cause  I'd  a  friend  of  mine  on  a  sailin'  ship  what 
went  there,"  he  explained  to  the  Third. 

"  Those  are  the  passenger  boats,  the  Samos,  Lesbos,  Chios, 
and  Delos.  White  hull  with  buff  funnel?  I  know  them.  I 
was  Fifth  of  the  Samos/*  said  the  Third.  "  What  d'you  quit 
a  job  like  that  to  come  to  sea  for?  " 


402  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

"  Have  you  ever  had  a  job  like  that,  mister?  " 

"  No  such  luck !  " 

"  Well,  it  ain't  so  nice  as  it  looks.  I  know  I  found  it  pretty 
slow.  I  don't  mind  work,  so  long  I  can  get  about  and  see 
things.     I  wanted  to  see  Singapore,  somehow." 

"  You're  a  funny  chap,"  said  the  Third.  "  What  about  get- 
tin'  married?  I  thought  you  were  all  for  the  beach  when  we 
left  Swansea." 

"  So  I  am  in  a  way.  I  don't  know  as  I  can  explain  how  I 
feel  about  it,"  Hannibal  replied,  screwing  the  top  of  his  lamp 
tight  and  wiping  his  hands  with  a  piece  of  waste,  "  I  always 
'ad  a  hankerin'  to  get  away,  only  I  didn't  know  'ow  to  go 
about  it." 

"  It's  a  wasted  life,  I  reckon,"  said  the  Third,  looking  up  the 
windsail. 

Hannibal  shook  his  head  decidedly.  "  No  it  ain't,  mister," 
he  said.  "  Not  for  us.  It's  the  married  men  as  gets  the  worst 
of  it  at  sea,  not  us.     I  can  see  that." 

"  And  yet  you're  going  to  get  married !  " 

"  So  I  hope,"  he  returned  simply.  "  I  expect  I'll  have  had 
enough  of  this  by  then.  But  even  suppose "  And  Hanni- 
bal put  his  finger  on  the  Third's  singlet.  "  Even  suppose  I  did. 
I  ain't  going  to  say  it's  a  wasted  life."  He  wiped  his  forehead 
with  the  waste  and  put  it  down  thoughtfully. 

The  Third  watched  him  stoop,  lamp  in  hand,  and  open  the 
iron  door  under  the  boilers.  "  He's  a  funny  cuss,"  he  mused, 
and  looked  up  at  the  ceiling.  "  I  wonder  if  he's  right."  And 
he  went  round  behind  the  engines  to  watch  the  evaporator. 

They  anchored  far  out  in  the  harbour  at  sundown,  just  as 
the  last  rays  caught  the  gilded  roofs  and  set  them  on  fire. 
Hannibal  lay  on  his  pallet  on  the  forecastle  and  watched  it. 
Jan  smoked  beside  him.  All  round  the  red  ensigns  were  drop- 
ping from  the  poops  and  across  the  water  came  flying  skiffs 
with  many-coloured  sails. 

"  Look,  Jan !  "  he  said,  flinging  out  his  hand.  "  See  that 
sky?"  Jan  looked  with  moody  eyes  upon  the  purple  and 
crimson  glory  of  the  western  heavens,  but  his  soul  was  dull 
within  him.  He  had  awakened  in  the  lazaret,  and  found  the 
handcuffs  on  his  hands.  "  What  was  the  use  ?  "  he  asked  him- 
self. He  could  not  keep  away  from  the  drink.  Every  time 
he   swore   to   reform,   and   every   time   the   evil   thing  mastered 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  403 

him.  Up  on  the  bridge-deck  Tommy  was  waving  flags  to  the 
next  steamer,  sending  a  message.  Up  and  down  and  across 
the  flags  moved,  making  the  simple  words  by  which  the  seaman 
calls  to  his  brother-wanderer  round  the  world.  Jan  saw  him, 
and  a  strange  look  of  longing  came  into  the  blue  eyes.  He 
turned  to  Hannibal. 

"Reckon  the  Old  Man'll  send  us  ashore  here?"  he  asked  in 
a  whisper. 

"I  —  I  can't  say,"  faltered  Hannibal.  He  had  heard  a  ru- 
mour that  it  might  happen. 

"  I  won't  go,"  muttered  Jan.  "  I'll  sink  first,  so  help  me 
God!     I've  been  in  here." 

"  Don't  say  that,"  said  Hannibal. 

"  Here,"  said  Jan,  "  you're  next  him,  you  are,  I  don't  know 
why,  but  you  are.  One  o'  the  sailors  told  me  something.  You 
speak  the  skipper.  Tell  him  " —  here  he  bowed  his  head  and 
shook  with  a  wheezing  cough — "tell  him  I'm  done  for.  I'll 
be  finished  anyway  soon.  Tell  him  no  let  me  die  in  the  cala- 
boosh.     Eh,  will  you  ?  " 

Hannibal  looked  at  him  carefully.  His  brown  beard  was 
long  and  dishevelled,  his  eyes  dry  and  bright,  and  his  mouth 
worked  under  the  moustache.  Hannibal  remembered  that  since 
Sabang  he  had  eaten  nothing,  turning  with  loathing  from  the 
contents  of  the  kid.  Suppose  he  could  do  this  thing  for  an- 
other man?  He  might.  It  would  be  another  step  in  the  ascend- 
ing effort  to  full  manhood.     He  nodded  and  put  down  his  pipe. 

"  I'll  'ave  a  shot  at  it,"  he  said,  and  went  aft  to  the  cabin 
door. 

Captain  Briscoe  was  sitting  at  his  little  table,  writing. 

"  Come  in,"  he  said,  when  he  heard  the  faint  tap  on  the  panel. 
"  Oh,  it's  you!     What's  the  matter?  " 

Hannibal  told  him,  and  the  Old  Man  stared  at  him  in  aston- 
ishment. 

"  What's  he  to  you?  "  he  asked. 

"  Just  a  chum,  sir.  'E  can't  keep  off  the  booze.  'E's  been 
in  quod  'ere  before,  'e  says,  and  'e  thinks  it'll  kill  'im.  'E's 
sick,  sir,  sometimes.  If  it  don't  make  any  difference  to  you, 
sir?" 

"What  do  I  care  about  the  scum?  You  ought  to  keep  clear 
of  that  lot.     A  respectable  man  has  to  be  careful." 

"  They   ain't  so  bad,  sir,"   he  answered,  lifting  his   hand  in 


404  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

protest.  "  Only  the  booze  sends  them  silly.  They're  men, 
any'ow." 

"Are  they?"  returned  the  Old  Man  bitterly.  "A  lot  you 
know  about  it.  Jail's  the  place  for  them,  I  tell  you.  Let  them 
off,  and  they  go  and  do  the  same  thing  again." 

"  I  don't  reckon  jail  makes  'em  any  better,  sir.  If  they  got 
any  friends,  they'll  feel  bad  about  it,  same  as  us." 

The  Old  Man  remained  silent,  drumming  on  the  table  with 
his  knuckles. 

"  Is  that  why  you  came  here  to  ask?  "  he  enquired  at  length, 
and  Hannibal  nodded. 

"  I'll  see,"  said  Captain  Briscoe,  and  the  young  man  went 
away  with  a  curious  feeling  of  gladness  in  his  heart.  It  was 
nice  to  do  a  thing  like  that,  if  you  had  a  chance. 

Jan's  sickness  was  not  a  fake,  as  the  Second,  inured  to  fakes, 
grimly  pronounced  it.  He  took  his  watch  all  the  five  days 
they  lay  at  anchor  in  Singapore,  took  it  feebly  for  the  first 
fortnight  of  the  long  pull  up  the  China  Seas.  Hannibal  helped 
him  by  working  hard  all  his  own  watch,  so  that  Jan  had  very 
little  to  do.  But  as  they  left  the  islands  of  Loo  Choo  melting 
into  the  blue  Pacific,  he  lay  in  his  bunk  helpless,  and  breathing 
through  dry,  cracked  lips.  The  Captain  went  along  with  the 
Steward  and  saw  at  once  that  the  man  was  sick.  He  ordered 
them  to  carry  him  out  and  lay  him  on  the  hatch.  A  tarpaulin 
was  put  over  the  boom  and  hung  over  the  edges,  making  a 
sort  of  tent  with  open  ends.  For  two  days  Jan  lay  there, 
drinking  a  little  barley  water,  his  eyes  closed,  his  breath  coming 
in  irregular  spasms,  the  face  above  the  brown  beard  like  death. 
Hannibal  would  creep  in  after  tea  and  sit  beside  him,  with  his 
knees  drawn  up,  smoking  a  companionable  pipe. 

"  'Ow's  things?  "  he  would  ask  cheerily,  and  Jan  would  open 
his  eyes  and  look  straight  up  at  the  boom.  Then  he  would  close 
them  again,  while  Hannibal  told  him  the  gossip  of  the  day.  On 
the  third  day  his  eyes  were  open,  and  looking  for  Hannibal. 
By  his  side  was  a  milk  pudding  and  a  tumbler.  One  wasted 
arm  lay  across  his  chest,  in  the  other  was  a  key. 

"  Eh?  "  said  Hannibal.     "  What  is  it?  " 

"  Book  in  my  bag.     Little  book.     Savvy  ?  " 

He  took  the  key  obediently  and,  finding  the  bag,  unlocked 
the  brass  ring  that  secured  the  neck,  and  felt  in  it  for  the  book. 
Then  he  relocked  the  bag  and  returned  to  the  hatch. 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  405 

"This  it?"  he  asked. 

Jan  nodded,  and  whispered  "  Open  it." 

Hannibal  turned  over  the  leaves.  It  was  in  some  strange 
language,  full  of  harsh  cries,  croonings,  and  abrupt  dissonances. 
He  shook  his  head  doubtfully.  The  fly-leaf  fell  away,  and  he 
saw  a  photograph  of  a  young  woman.  The  print  had  been 
stuck  in  to  the  book  by  some  unpractised  hand,  askew,  and  with 
a  thumb-mark  on  the  edge.  Above  was  written  in  thin  grace- 
ful characters,  "  Greta  Noordhoff,  Amsterdam,  1895." 

Hannibal  looked  up  and  saw  the  man's  bright  feverish  eyes 
watching  him.     He  put  down  his  head. 

"  You  look  at  that  picture  ?  " 

He  looked  at  it  again.  The  full  oval  of  the  face  was  framed 
in  severely  arranged  hair,  which  deceived  his  inexperienced  eye 
at  first.  But  the  eyes  were  unmistakable.  He  noticed  the  name 
again.     "Tommy?"  he  thought. 

"  Yes,"  he  thought  to  himself,  in  some  excitement,  almost 
forgetting  the  man  who  was  watching  his  face.  Yes,  there  were 
the  same  long-fringed  eyelashes,  the  same  shadows  under  the 
eyes,  the  same  soft  mouth  and  rounded  cheek. 

"Who  is  it?"  he  asked. 

"  Girl  I  told  you  was  good  to  me.  I  went  away,  and  she 
had  a  baby.  When  her  mother  got  on  to  me  for  money  I  say 
I  got  none,  see?  I  think  it  somebody  else's.  She  died,  same 
as  I  told  you.     Now  you  see  that !     Savvy  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Hannibal,  "  I  savvy.     I'll  fetch  him." 

He  had  not  seen  Tommy  much  of  late,  and  now  as  he  walked 
aft  it  occurred  to  him  that  he  was  bound  upon  an  errand  be- 
yond his  powers.  Here  were  man  and  boy,  aliens,  the  man 
dying  in  a  desperate  plight  of  irreparable  neglect,  the  boy  very 
much  alive  and  ignorant  of  the  man's  history.  And  he,  Han- 
nibal Gooderich,  only  lately  seller  of  tobacco  in  Billiter  Lane, 
he  was  to  go  along  to  the  boy  and  say  to  him,  "  That  man  on 
the  hatch  is  your  father.  He's  dying,  and  wants  to  speak  to 
you."  It  was  preposterous,  a  crazy  dream.  Tommy  would  tell 
him  he  was  not  plumb.  And  yet,  there  was  the  name,  the  date, 
the  photograph. 

He  went  along  the  alley-way  to  his  old  room.  The  door  was 
open,  and  the  boy  was  sitting  with  a  big  red  book  on  his  knee, 
scribbling  figures  on  a  sheet  of  paper.  He  looked  up  with  a 
smile. 


406  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

"Hello/'  he  said.     "What's  de  matter  wid  you?" 

Hannibal  stepped  inside,  closed  the  door,  and  sat  down  beside 
him. 

"  You  know  that  chap  who  trims  on  the  four-to-eight  watch?  " 
he  began.     "  'E's  a  Dutchman." 

"He!" 

"  Yes,  and  'e's  dying.  'E's  got  a  touch  o'  the  fever  'e  got 
out  'ere  years  ago,  and  the  booze  has  crumpled  him  all  up. 
'E's  an  Amsterdammer." 

"  Hey !  "     Tommy  put  down  his  book. 

"  Yes,  and  he's  got  a  book  there  with  a  photo  in  it  of  a  girl, 
and  the  name's  same  as  yours.  It's  —  it's  your  mother,  I 
reckon."  The  boy's  face  relaxed.  For  him  the  situation,  per- 
haps, was  not  quite  so  complex  as  it  seemed.  Say  what  you  will, 
blood-ties  are  like  blood-stains.  They  can  be  obliterated.  The 
hardy  convention  of  the  ages  still  persists  that  the  dark  blotch 
on  the  floor  remains  so  forever,  that  some  deep  ineradicable 
instinct  drags  forth  the  shuddering  cry  of  "  Father !  "  But  to 
this  alien  child,  who  had  been  sent  begging  around  the  ships 
as  soon  as  he  could  walk,  who  had  grown  as  a  sparrow  grows, 
who  had  been  beaten  and  starved  and  frightened  by  the  black- 
guards of  the  sea,  who  loved  where  he  was  loved,  and  answered 
as  a  dog  answers,  to  him  the  "  call  of  the  blood  "  was  less  than 
nothing.  To  him  had  come  no  accumulated  tradition  of  par- 
entage, no  childhood  enervated  by  the  delicately  insidious  busi- 
ness of  family  affection.  It  had  been  a  slogging  fight  between 
a  courageous  young  spirit  and  a  cowardly  old  world.  It  was 
only  natural  that  the  love  of  his  heart  should  go  to  the  man 
who  had  stepped  in  and  helped  him  in  his  struggle,  who  had 
seen  with  an  artistic  vision  the  eager  young  soul  as  he  might 
be  if  he  were  put  upon  the  road.  What  had  he  to  do  with  a 
father?     And  so  his  face  relaxed.     He  reached  for  his  coat. 

"  I'll  come,"  he  said,  and  together  they  went  forward  to  the 
hatch.  The  man  lay  as  before,  one  hand  across  his  chest,  the 
other  by  his  side,  the  top  of  the  dishevelled  head  towards  them. 
The  milk-pudding  and  the  tumbler  had  not  been  removed,  and 
they  introduced  a  note  of  irreconcilable  bathos,  for  he  was  dead. 
They  saw  that,  and  paused  beneath  the  boom.  It  was  as  though 
the  grim  Spectre,  seated  in  there  beside  his  last  victim,  un- 
daunted by  the  milk-pudding,  had  raised  his  hand. 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  407 

And  so,  having  sailed  the  seas  for  many  years,  having  de- 
bauched the  gifts  of  God,  and  the  love  of  women,  having  avoided 
with  incredible  dexterity  the  esteem  of  man  and  the  joy  of 
accomplishment,  Jan  Ostade  went  out  into  the  void. 


XIX 

NINETY  days  after  the  Caryatid  had  crept  out  of  the 
shadow  of  Staten  Island,  her  stockless  anchors  broke 
into  the  glassy  surface  of  the  Gulf  of  Osaka,  and  she 
was  at  rest.  Only  those  who  have  been  through  the 
ordeal  can  have  the  dimmest  comprehension  of  the  sigh  of  relief 
that  passed  the  lips  of  every  one  of  the  ship's  company.  The 
Caryatid  herself  seemed  aware  that  for  a  little  while  at  least 
she  could  brood  upon  her  destiny  unharassed  by  the  insistent 
urge  of  her  propeller;  and  the  hoarse  roar  of  the  safety-valves, 
the  white  feather  of  steam  that  floated  on  the  off-shore  wind, 
intimated  to  her  distant  colleagues  the  fact  of  her  achievement. 

The  Third  Engineer  came  up  from  the  scarcely-endurable 
heat  of  the  boiler-tops,  where  he  had  been  shutting  the  mains, 
and  looked  out  contemptuously  upon  the  kingdoms  of  the  im- 
memorial East.  His  colourless  face  was  lined  and  stippled 
with  black  grease,  and  the  bridge  of  his  undistinguished  nose 
was  made  diabolically  incongruous  by  a  patch  of  soot,  scraped 
from  some  unnoticed  projection.  He  stood  there,  in  easy  pose, 
neglectful  of  the  chatter  in  the  galley,  incurious  as  to  the  ensign 
at  half-mast  which  Mr.  Cadoxton  was  hastening  to  pull  down, 
and  moving  only  when  he  heard  a  step  behind  him.  Mr.  Spink, 
his  hair  standing  many  ways,  his  torso  glistening  with  friction, 
a  bath  towel  around  his  shoulders,  and  a  briar  pipe  hanging 
from  his  teeth,  joined  the  Third  in  his  contemplation  of  the 
Orient. 

"  Spink,  son,"  said  the  Third  softly,  "  call  me  at  one  bell, 
will  you,  as  usual  ?  " 

"  What  on  earth  for?  "  asked  the  young  man. 

"  Not  for  anything  on  earth,  Spink,  but  for  the  heavenly 
glory  of  goin'  to  sleep  again.  Think  of  it,  O  my  Spink! 
Ninety  days  have  I  kept  the  graveyard  watch,  and  now,  once 
more,  I'm  going  to  have  an  all  night  in.  Oh!  it's  too  good 
to  be  true." 

"  You'd  better  go  and  get  yourself  washed  then,  instead  of 
wasting  valuable  time,"  remarked  the  prosaic  Spink.     *  I'm  get- 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  409 

ting  into  the  hay  right  now.  We'll  have  to  get  busy  on  them 
pump-links  in  the  morning.  They've  been  bangin'  something 
'orrible." 

"  Don't  talk  about  it,  Spink.  Let  the  morning  bring  its  own 
troubles.  Let  the  giddy  young  Jesmond  go  round  spyhV  out 
unnecessary  jobs.  Use  your  time,  while  you've  got  it,  free  from 
responsibility.     Behold  the  land  of  the  Japanee !  " 

"  I  got  the  log-slate  to  write  up,"  sighed  the  Fourth.  "  The 
Chief  always  grouses  if  I  leave  it  till  the  morning,  even  if  he 
don't  enter  it  until  next  week.  Ah !  "  he  put  his  elbows  on  the 
bulwarks  and  looked  attentively  at  the  shore-lights.  "  Say, 
Tich,  this  is  some  scenery,  eh,  lad  ?  " 

The  Third  nodded.  In  a  vast  semicircle  lay  the  blue  moun- 
tains crowding  upon  the  twilight  sea.  From  Hyogo,  away  west- 
ward, to  the  multitudinous  brilliance  that  was  Osaka,  the  lights 
ran  round  in  interminable  chains  and  galaxies.  From  the  har- 
bour at  Kobe  flared  at  intervals  a  crimson  storm-signal,  and 
electric  tramcars,  like  golden  beads  on  an  invisible  thread,  slid 
back  and  forth,  bursting  ever  and  anon  into  blue  fire  as  the 
trolley  jumped  the  wires.  High  up,  the  lights  of  a  monastery 
burned  faintly,  showing  where  sad-eyed  monks  looked  out  across 
the  darkling  sea.  Over  the  water  came  the  cries  of  the  fisher- 
men, the  shrill  call  of  a  locomotive,  the  plaintive  clang  of  a 
mysterious  bell. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  Third  with  a  yawn,  "  very  pretty  if  it  wasn't 
so  far  from  Charing  Cross.  I  suppose  that's  the  launch  going 
around  the  breakwater  now."  And  he  extended  a  finger  to- 
wards Kobe.     "  I  suppose  he'll  bring  back  the  letters." 

"  He  will  that,"  said  Spink,  and  they  went  into  the  alley- 
way. 

"  I  was  beginning  to  think,"  remarked  the  Third,  as  he  drew 
the  red  ball-fringed  curtain  across  the  door  of  their  room,  "  that 
I  should  never  be  respectable  again.  I'm  not  sure  now  whether 
I've  got  a  clean  collar  to  go  ashore  in.  How  fortunate,  Spink, 
that  we  both  take  fifteens!  " 

Mr.  Hopkins,  removing  a  three-days'  growth  from  his  chin, 
was  more  concerned  about  his  boilers,  I  think,  than  anything 
else.  The  Second,  leaning  against  the  door-jamb,  his  head  and 
body  in  shadow,  his  face  in  the  light,  like  a  dreadful  mask,  out- 
lined in  a  monotonous  undertone  his  campaign  of  toil.  Mr. 
Cadoxton  patrolled  the  deck  overhead,  and  unfolded  to  the  Sec- 


410  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

ond  Mate  his  theory  that  the  Old  Man  was  a  victim  of  prema- 
ture senile  decay. 

"  Take  my  word  for  it,  Charlie,"  he  said,  as  they  walked  to 
and  fro,  "  if  he  doesn't  get  good  news  he  will  be  a  dithering 
idiot  before  we  get  home." 

"  Yes,  it's  nervous  tension,"  said  the  fat  Second  Mate,  who 
had  a  habit  of  startling  people  by  asking  if  they  had  read 
Herbert  Spencer.  "  That's  what  it  is  —  nervous  tension."  Mr. 
Cadoxton  laughed  lightly. 

"  Under  the  circumstances,"  he  replied,  "  I  think  we  may  call 
it  that." 

It  was  nearly  half-past  nine  when,  stopping  for  the  hun- 
dredth time  to  scan  the  dark  waters  of  the  bay  with  his  night- 
glasses,  Mr.  Cadoxton  detected  the  approach  of  a  sampan  un- 
der sail,  and  moved  to  the  head  of  the  accommodation-ladder. 
The  craft  came  around  in  a  circle  towards  the  steamer,  the 
tiny  lantern  on  the  rail  sending  out  an  eerie  radiance.  As 
she  seemed  about  to  strike  the  ship  end-on,  for  the  off-shore 
breeze  was  blowing  freshly,  the  bamboo  gaff  slipped  down  and 
the  sail  fell  in  soft  folds  about  the  dim,  naked  form  of  the 
boatman.  A  few  skilful  manipulations  of  the  big  stern  oar 
brought  the  boat  to  the  foot  of  the  ladder,  and  Captain  Briscoe 
came  slowly  up  the  steps.  Mr.  Cadoxton,  peering  over  the 
rail,  watched  him  with  intelligent  interest.  The  Captain's  head 
came  in  line  with  a  lighted  port,  and  appeared  a  moment  as  a 
vivid  intaglio.  As  he  stepped  upon  the  deck,  and  you  could 
tell  he  was  the  Captain  by  the  way  he  did  that  seemingly  sim- 
ple thing,  he  handed  the  Third  Mate  a  bundle  of  letters  and 
newspapers.  Mr.  Cadoxton,  offering  his  arms  for  the  load, 
looked  his  commander  in  the  eyes. 

"  Everything  all  right,  sir,"  he  observed. 

"  Where's  the  Mate  ?  "  said  the  Captain  in  a  strong  vibrating 
voice.  He  stood  solidly  on  his  feet,  his  broad  figure  black 
against  the  gangway  lantern,  the  cigar  in  his  fingers  glowing. 
The  Chief  Mate  came  down  from  the  chart-room. 

"  I  want  to  speak  to  you,"  said  the  Captain  in  the  same 
domineering  tone.     "  Get  the  men  out " 

They  walked  off  together,  and  Mr.  Cadoxton,  putting  the 
mail  down  on  a  hatch,  blew  his  whistle  for  aid  in  drawing  up 
the  accommodation-ladder.  The  Second  Mate  came  over  the 
deck  from  his  room  on  the  port  side. 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  411 

"  Letters,"  he  crooned,  turning  them  over.  One  by  one  the 
crew  came  up,  holding  eager  hands. 

"  Here  you  are.  Bosun,  Borgan,  Skettles,  Rathorne  —  who's 
Rathome?  —  Nystrom,  Noordhoff,  Hutchins  —  that's  the  Mate 
—  MacCuskery,  Angelatos,  Stolypin,  here  you  are.  .  .  ." 

Some,  leaning  towards  the  lantern,  held  but  one  thin  letter, 
others  had  three  or  four ;  some,  lonely  shell-backs,  took  away 
a  bundle  of  newspapers  but  no  letters.  The  pride  of  th,ese 
men,  their  simple  chuckling  pleasure  in  receiving  their  quota, 
their  good-humoured  triumph  over  some  eager  shipmate  who 
waited  patiently  until  the  distribution  was  over  and  found  noth- 
ing for  him,  was  a  curious  sight.  And  very  soon  the  bridge- 
deck  was  deserted.  In  top  bunks,  in  lower  bunks,  in  the  galley, 
in  rooms  with  curtained  doors,  men  sat  and  pored  over  intimate 
communications,  public  trials,  news  of  fire  and  flood  in  that  far- 
off  country  across  the  world.  Mr.  Cadoxton,  seated  on  the 
Second  Mate's  chest  of  drawers,  lit  a  cigarette. 

"  Did  you  hear  him,  Charlie?  Well,  he  was  terse.  There 
is  no  other  word  for  it.  Never  even  answered  me.  It's  my 
opinion,  Charlie,  that  the  nervous  tension  you  spoke  of  is 
relaxed.  He's  got  his  grip  again.  He'll  be  nosing  around  in 
his  pyjamas  at  five  o'clock  to-morrow  morning."  And  he  sent 
the  smoke  in  fine  jets  through  his  nostrils.  The  fat  Second 
Mate  folded  a  letter  and  sighed.  "  Let  him  nose,"  he  re- 
marked. "  I've  forgotten  more  about  my  work  than  he  can  tell 
me." 

Captain  Briscoe,  having  astonished  his  chief  officer  by  a 
number  of  unnecessary  orders  concerning  the  breaking  of  bulk 
early  on  the  following  day,  unlocked  his  room  and  entered, 
shutting  the  door  after  him.  As  he  proceeded  to  divest  him- 
self of  his  shore  clothes,  he  whistled  a  tune.  He  even  paused, 
half-naked,  to  pour  out  a  glass  of  whisky.  As  his  head  emerged 
from  the  singlet,  he  smiled  into  the  mirror.  He  took  a  photo- 
graph from  over  his  bunk  and  kissed  it.  When  his  sleeping  suit 
was  adjusted,  he  lit  a  fresh  cigar,  took  a  packet  of  letters  and 
newspapers  from  his  leather  case  and  extended  himself  on  the 
settee.  Once  again  he  went  delightfully  through  the  letter  he 
had  already  perused  a  dozen  times. 

It  could  not  be  called  a  long  letter,  the  small  neat  hand- 
writing only  covered  three  sides  of  the  thick  square  paper. 
Minnie,  in  her  imperturbable  way,  discounted  the  incident  which 


412  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

had  given  her  husband  so  much  misery.  It  was  true  she  had 
been  down  to  Westminster,  with  a  petition. 

An  old  friend  of  hers,  a  Mrs.  Wilfley,  had  taken  her  down 
there.  And  in  the  uproar  that  followed  they  had  been  arrested 
along  with  many  other  innocent  women.  One  of  the  witnesses 
was  Sir  Anthony  Gilfillan,  m.p.,  who  knew  Mrs.  Wilfley  very 
well,  and  he  had  bailed  them  out,  had  given  evidence  that  they 
were  innocent.  It  was  very  foolish  of  her  husband  to  take  such 
a  thing  seriously.  She  belonged  to  a  Woman's  Club,  but  she 
had  no  sympathy  with  window-breakers.  She  and  Mrs.  Wilfley 
were  suffragists,  but  not  suffragettes.  She  was  going  on  very 
well  at  her  flat.  Her  mother  lived  with  her,  and  she  would  be 
glad  when  he  came  home.     She  missed  him. 

It  was  flawless  in  its  restraint,  its  quiet  undercurrent  of 
humour,  its  complete  comprehension  of  his  state  of  mind.  The 
last  paragraph  was  redolent  of  her  personality. 

"  You  know,  George,  I  never  had  the  gift  of  the  "  gab '  very 
strong,  and  writing  letters  tires  me.  But  I  should  like  you  to 
know  that  I  think  too  much  of  your  opinion  to  do  anything 
that  would  hurt  you,  even  if  you  never  heard  of  it.  I  do 
really.  And  if  I  could  explain,  which  would  do  no  good,  you 
would  understand  what  that  means  sometimes.  Good-bye,  dear, 
write  to  me  as  soon  as  you  arrive.  I  was  at  Mrs.  Wilfley's 
flat  the  other  day  to  tea,  and  a  gentleman  was  telling  us  about 
Japan.  I  almost  wish  I  was  with  you.  It  must  be  a  beautiful 
place.     I  do  miss  you  sometimes." 

That  was  one  letter.  The  gem  of  the  collection,  he  thought, 
as  he  laid  it  down  reverently.  The  next  one  was  shorter,  posted 
a  week  later.  It  referred  to  her  brother.  She  didn't  quite 
know  what  it  was  he  was  doing,  but  he  had  thrown  up  his  job 
and  gone  to  sea.  She  knew  now  he  was  on  the  Caryatid.  Her 
mother  thought  he  might  be  in  danger  as  he  had  written  say- 
ing he  might  be  put  on  the  fires.     What  in  the  world  was  that? 

Captain  Briscoe  laughed  happily  to  himself.  His  mind 
leaped  the  months  before  he  would  be  home  again.  This  was 
September.  By  Christmas?  It  was  possible.  To  the  mariner, 
getting  paid  off  for  Christmas  is  a  foretaste  of  Heaven.  It  is 
a  lovely  mirage  held  ever  before  his  eyes  by  a  sardonic  Fate. 
Captain  Briscoe  had  not  had  a  Christmas  at  home  for  eighteen 
years.  He  had  sailed  out  of  Leith  in  a  snowstorm  on  Christmas 
Eve,  he  had  run  ashore  in  the  Savannah  River,  in  a  fog,  on 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  413 

Christmas  morning,  and  remained  there  for  two  days.  He  had 
every  reason  to  be  suspicious  of  that  festival.  Nevertheless  he 
lay  on  his  settee  making  hasty  mental  calculations.  Certainly 
they  ought  to  do  it  if  they  got  despatch  in  Java.  Even  if  they 
went  to  a  Continental  port  he  would  get  over  for  Christmas. 

His  mind  reverted  to  the  letter  concerning  the  young  fellow. 
Minnie  could  not  be  expected  to  understand  the  enormous  gulf 
between  her  husband  and  her  brother  on  the  Caryatid.  He 
smoked  hard  as  he  tried  to  think  of  some  way  in  which  he  could 
act  upon  her  hint.  He  shook  his  head.  It  was  not  possible. 
And  after  all,  the  young  fellow  was  all  right.  He  seemed  quiet, 
civil,  sober,  contented.  He  expected  nothing.  When  they  were 
paid  off,  then  he  might  do  something.  But  here  it  would  be 
subversive  of  all  discipline  if  the  Captain  interfered  with  the 
Black  Squad.     He  decided  it  could  not  be  done. 

He  had  gone  ashore  that  afternoon  with  the  dead  body  of 
Jan  Ostade,  neatly  wrapped  in  canvas,  and  had  superintended 
the  formalities  which  that  troublesome  individual  had  imposed 
upon  him  by  dying  within  sight  of  land.  It  is  to  be  surmised 
that  Captain  Briscoe  did  not  feel  much  of  this  minor  tragedy 
of  the  sea.  When  you  have  lived  in  the  forecastle,  where  men 
die  at  the  most  inopportune  moments,  and  are  shot  over  the 
bulwarks  without  benefit  of  clergy,  you  cannot  set  aside  your 
own  personal  troubles  to  weep  over  a  foreign  trimmer.  Sym- 
pathy stretched  to  cover  so  wide  an  area  grows  thin.  To  Cap- 
tain Briscoe,  inasmuch  as  his  charge  of  the  incubus  ceased  as 
he  received  his  letters,  it  was  as  though  the  man  had  been  a 
source  of  bad  luck  to  the  ship.  With  an  entry  in  his  log  and 
a  declaration  before  the  Consul  his  responsibility  ended. 

But  to  Hannibal,  seated  in  his  customary  place  against  the 
windlass,  the  matter  was  not  to  be  so  dismissed.  He  felt  it 
more  even  than  did  Tommy,  who  was  at  an  age  when  tragedy 
is  an  irksome  conundrum.  Hannibal  tried  to  comprehend  the 
workings  of  Fate,  tried  to  fathom  the  sublime  mystery  of  death. 
In  the  dim  recesses  of  his  mind,  he  fumbled  for  the  key  to  the 
enigma.  He  remembered  that  away  back  in  childhood,  in  the 
days  when  he  had  played  about  Maple  Avenue  with  little 
Hiram,  he  had  been  able  to  look  with  unfrightened  eyes  into 
the  phantom  world  where  mysterious  shapes  moved  to  and  fro. 
Why  could  he  not  see  them  now?  It  puzzled  him,  as  it  has 
puzzled  many  of  us  thoughtful  folk,  this  paradox,  that  the  more 


414  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

we  learn  the  less  we  seem  to  know.  He  had  a  sudden  and  tear- 
blinded  vision  of  the  innumerable  failures,  the  incredibly  fool- 
ish failures,  with  which  the  progress  of  the  world  was  strewn. 
He  remembered,  as  he  sat  there  smoking  in  the  darkness,  that 
pamphlet  of  the  Pallas  Athene  School,  Raising  the  Dead.  Was 
it  possible  that  those  sharp  efficient  people  were  right?  Was 
it  entirely  the  fault  of  Jan  and  Mr.  Grober,  and  his  own  father, 
that  they  had  gone  down  the  Dolorous  Way  that  leads  to  ulti- 
mate failure  and  oblivion?     He  wondered. 

And  then  another  vague  idea  grew  up  in  his  mind,  an  idea 
that  perhaps  a  man's  life  was  not  a  complete  thing  in  itself,  that 
perhaps  it  was  but  a  bead  on  a  string,  a  link  on  a  chain,  the 
visible  part  of  an  invisible  continuity.  In  the  light  of  that 
thought,  death  seemed  a  small  and  theatrical  affair.  Was  that, 
then,  a  solution?  It  did  somehow  link  up  the  confusing  acci- 
dents of  existence.  It  did  make  the  pain  seem  less  sharp.  The 
essential  product  of  one's  life  was  indestructible,  and  lived  on. 
Jan  was  dead.     Tommy  was  very  much  alive. 

It  had  not  taken  him  long  to  read  Nellie's  letter.  Miss  Ffitt's 
fluency  of  speech  communicated  itself  to  her  correspondence. 
To  tell  the  truth,  she  was  one  of  those  who  endeavour  to  conceal 
a  tendency  to  ramble  by  means  of  dashes.  Old  Snickery  was  a 
drunken  old  beast.  She  sometimes  wished  herself  back  in 
Cardiff  —  fancy  that !  She  was  talking  of  a  certain  Mr.  Goode- 
rich  to  a  friend  of  hers  the  other  night  —  did  his  ears  burn? 
She  saw  Girtie  the  other  night  —  how  was  that  ittle  cherub  of 
a  sailor-boy  with  the  foreign  name  ?  —  She  was  out  at  the  Mum- 
bles with  her  sister-in-law  last  Sunday  —  only  day  she  could 
get  off  —  it  made  her  very  anxious,  now  she  held  the  licence  — 
if  anything  happened  —  and  anything  might  happen  when  those 
mates  and  engineers  got  going  —  such  a  time  the  other  night! 
The  barmaids  were  frivolous  things  —  needed  a  tight  hand. 

It  is  rather  refreshing  to  find  artlessness  in  correspondence 
in  our  time.  Miss  Ffitt  wrote  very  much  as  if  she  would  have 
written  five  thousand  years  before  —  in  jerky  pictures  which 
were  quite  unintentionally  arresting,  and  sometimes  funny,  as 
when  she  described  a  German  captain  with  "  a  carroty  beard, 
a  beetroot  nose,  and  onion  eyes  —  but  very  well  bred."  Or 
the  mate  of  a  Scotch  sailing-ship,  who  spent  the  whole  evening 
over  one  glass  of  whisky  — "  it  was  a  very  close  night."  She 
made  no  endeavours  after  tenderness  at  all,  though  I  think  her 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  415 

simple  conclusion,  praying  that  the  Lord  stand  between  them 
while  they  were  absent  one  from  another,  indicates  with  a  cer- 
tain naive  charm  and  dignity  the  plane  of  her  permanent  emo- 
tion. 


XX 

SHE  came  into  view  slowly,  for  she  was  deep  laden  and 
the  tug  was  contemptibly  small.  Across  the  burnished 
floor  that  led  the  eye  into  the  intolerable  brilliance  of  the 
Inland  Sea,  she  came  reluctantly,  her  yards  thick,  with 
blobs  that  were  men,  her  sides  cluttered  with  sampans.  She 
seemed  to  hang  back,  as  indeed  she  did  in  that  current,  like 
some  beautiful  sensitive  creature  ashamed  of  the  noisy  vulgarity 
of  the  tug,  whose  stubby  funnel  belched  a  rolling  fuliginous 
vapour  and  whose  whistle  sent  forth  a  raucous  and  disquieting 
bray.  As  she  drew  nearer  and,  simultaneously  with  the  fall  of 
the  anchor  the  sun  dropped  behind  the  shoulder  of  the  Hill  of 
Hyogo,  the  still  water  changed  from  shining  bronze  to  a  clear 
silver,  and  hull  and  spars  showed  up  sharply  like  a  dry  point 
etching  against  an  amber  sky.  With  a  valedictory  shriek  the 
insufferable  tug  swept  round  and  made  off  in  the  direction  of  the 
breakwater,  and  the  ship,  coming  up  by  indistinguishable  grada- 
tions upon  her  clanking  cable,  took  on  an  aspect  of  repose, 
which  received  its  final  confirmation  from  the  dispersal  of  the 
sampans,  and  the  slow  ascent  of  a  riding  light  in  the  rigging. 
She  lay  a  mile  to  the  westward,  and  Mr.  Cadoxton,  viewing 
her  through  his  binoculars,  informed  the  curious  that  she  was 
the  Cygnet  of  London,  an  unusually  fine  ship. 

Hannibal,  hanging  underwear  to  dry  on  the  fiddle-grating, 
heard  the  information  with  pleasure  blent  with  a  species  of 
diffidence.  His  appreciation  of  the  infinitely  subtle  sense  of 
caste  that  runs  up  through  the  ranks  of  the  Merchant  Service 
was  too  just  to  permit  any  dallying  with  the  notion  of  the  well- 
bred  sailing  ship  apprentice  receiving  a  steamship  trimmer  with 
unfeigned  joy.  He  knew  as  well  as  Captain  Briscoe  now,  that 
you  cannot  do  as  you  like  in  such  matters.  It  would  have  been 
nice  to  go  ashore  with  an  old  friend,  he  admitted,  and  sighed. 
It  would  be  nice  to  go  ashore  anyway.  This  was  Friday.  He 
reflected.  To-morrow  he  would  receive  ten  shillings.  He  did 
not  want  to  go  ashore  urgently,  and  yet  he  felt  restless.     Since 

416 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  417 

they  were  arrived  at  the  end  of  the  voyage  he  had  tried  to 
take  up  reading  again,  having  got  a  bundle  of  shilling  novels 
from  the  Third  Engineer.  Perhaps  the  Third  Engineer  was 
not  quite  the  man  to  lend  a  young  fellow  books,  for  his  taste  in 
literature  was  sophisticated.  Hannibal  had  a  feeling  of  un- 
easiness as  he  read  some  of  those  novels,  as  though  he  were 
being  forced  to  peer  through  the  keyhole  of  a  bedroom  door. 
It  was  not  that  what  he  read  was  so  very  shocking.  It  was 
going  on  all  the  time  anyhow,  he  agreed  to  himself.  It  was 
the  way  they  put  it,  "  they  "  being  in  the  most  cases  ladies. 
Further  analysis  eluded  his  untutored  mind.  The  stimulating 
effect  upon  his  imagination  was  the  root  cause  of  his  restless- 
ness. 

They  were  going  to  make  a  party  in  the  forecastle,  to  econo- 
mise in  the  matter  of  sampans,  it  being  clearly  understood  that 
on  setting  foot  ashore  each  one  should  be  free  to  go  as  he  pleased. 
Angelatos  asked  Hannibal  if  he  was  going  with  anybody,  and 
he  answered  quietly  that  he  was  on  his  own. 

"  I'll  go  with  you,"  announced  the  Greek.  "  Tees  fellows 
all  bums."  Hannibal  reflected  that  if  he  really  desired  to  see 
life  and  put  in  what  the  Third  called  "  a  pretty  tough  evening," 
Angelatos  was  the  man. 

But  he  did  not  so  desire.  The  rough  work  in  the  furnaces 
and  combustion-chambers,  the  stifling  and  blinding  toil  of  tube- 
sweeping  was  not  to  be  compensated  by  an  insensate  carouse. 
He  had  seen  Angelatos  in  his  cups,  and  the  sight  was  not  a 
beautiful  one.  And  yet  it  was  obvious  that,  in  his  own  poor 
way,  the  man  was  desirous  of  going  ashore  with  a  respectable 
shipmate  who  might  perchance  keep  him  away  from  evil.  "  Tees 
fellars  all  bums  "  was  a  plain  though  tactless  condemnation  of 
the  others. 

Allowing  for  the  difficulty  of  keeping  a  suit  of  clothes  in  a 
canvas  bag,  Hannibal  presented  a  fairly  decent  appearance  as 
he  stood  waiting  for  the  sampan.  Captain  Briscoe,  patrolling 
his  bridge,  observed  with  satisfaction  the  young  man's  respecta- 
bility. Collars  were  a  rarity  in  the  fireman's  forecastle,  and 
Hannibal,  unlike  the  Third,  had  made  certain  of  his,  and  it 
chafed  his  brown  neck  with  unaccustomed  severity.  Angelatos, 
in  a  suit  of  violent  stripes  and  a  purple  silk  scarf  knotted  at 
the  throat,  leaned  negligently  against  the  rail,  a  cigarette  be- 
tween his  lips.     Captain  Briscoe  came  down  the  ladder. 


418  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

"  Get  forward  if  you  want  to  smoke,"  he  ordered  sternly, 
and  the  big  Greek,  flinging  the  offending  thing  into  the  sea, 
moved  away  with  a  muttered  imprecation.  Hannibal  met  the 
Old  Man's  eye  tranquilly. 

"  Better  keep  clear  of  that  lot,"  said  the  Captain.  "  They'll 
get  you  into  trouble." 

"  I'll  watch  that,  sir,"  he  answered. 

The  sampan  arrived  soon  after  and  they  all  descended,  some- 
what abashed  before  the  supercilious  gaze  of  Mr.  Cadoxton,  fall- 
ing over  each  other  as  they  stepped  upon  the  bobbing  gunwale. 
The  naked  boatman  heaved  his  sail,  and  as  they  cleared  the 
ship's  side  the  breeze  bore  them  across  towards  the  Cygnet, 
under  whose  stem  they  would  pass.  Hannibal  looked  out  eagerly 
as  they  neared  her.  She  seemed  much  smaller  than  when  in 
the  London  Dock.  Only  when  beneath  her  did  he  appreciate 
again  the  enormous  span  of  her  main  yard  and  the  perilous 
height  of  the  masts.  And  then  he  saw  Hiram  and  waved  his 
hand  excitedly.  The  young  man  was  leaning  over  the  side! 
and  answered  involuntarily,  as  one  will.  With  some  surprise 
Hannibal  found  the  sampan  rounding  the  stern  and  steering 
for  the  Cygnet's  ladder.  The  boatman  lowered  his  sail,  seized 
a  rope  flung  out  to  him,  and  made  fast.  Hannibal  came  to  a 
decision.  He  grasped  the  rope-handrail  and  stepped  out.  The 
boatman  took  a  basket  from  under  the  seat  and  handed  it  to 
him,  pointing  upward. 

"  Hi !  "  called  Angelatos.     "  Where  goin'  ?  " 

"  See  a  friend  o'  mine,"  replied  Hannibal,  holding  the  basket 
firmly.     "  See  you  later."     And  he  climbed  the  ladder. 

"  Several  brown  faces  appeared  over  the  bulwarks  and  exam- 
ined him  curiously  as  he  ascended.  A  man  with  a  full  black 
beard  under  a  peaked  cap  held  out  his  hand  for  the  basket. 

"  I'm  off  the  Caryatid"  Hannibal  explained.  Already  the 
sampan  was  standing  away  towards  the  breakwater.  "  The 
boatman  gi'  me  this.  There's  a  friend  o'  mine  —  oh,  there  he 
is!" 

Hiram  came  up,  a  brown  hand  extended. 

"  Friend  of  mine,  sir,"  he  explained  to  the  Mate,  who  nodded 
and  went  aft.  "  Well !  "  Hiram  went  on.  "  Where  on  earth 
have  you  sprung  from?  I  thought  you  were  working  in  Lon- 
don." 

"  Don't  you  remember  ?  "  asked  Hannibal,  smiling.     "  I  asked 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  419 

you  —  that  day  I  come  down  to  the  docks  —  about  gettin'  a  job 
on  a  ship  ?  " 

"  I  never  gave  it  a  thought,"  said  Hiram.  "  Come  into  our 
room."  He  led  the  way  along  to  the  forecastle.  "  I  can't  wait 
now.  We're  just  going  to  wash  decks.  Will  you  wait  here  till 
we're  through  ?     We  shan't  be  long." 

Hannibal  nodded  and  sat  down.  He  felt  somewhat  shy  in 
the  midst  of  all  the  spotless  cleanliness  of  the  sailing  ship  after 
the  unavoidable  dirt  of  a  steamer.  He  found  himself  looking 
up  at  a  photograph  of  Mrs.  Gaynor,  and  the  sight  of  it  brought 
back  with  a  vivid  clearness  the  life  in  Maple  Avenue.  Her 
calm  amiable  features,  with  the  slight  touch  of  ironic  resignation 
in  the  corners  of  the  mouth,  reminded  him,  by  contrast,  of  his 
mother.  He  had  always  been  the  least  little  bit  afraid  of  Mrs. 
Gaynor.  She  savoured  of  the  efficient  class  somewhat.  He  re- 
membered dimly  conversations,  mainly  monologues,  in  which  she 
had  advised  his  mother  of  "  the  best  way  "  to  do  things.  She 
had  even  commented  upon  the  folly  of  putting  collars  on  chil- 
dren, and  he  recalled  little  Hiram's  blue  woollen  jerseys.  Ob- 
viously his  mother  attached  too  much  importance  to  appearances. 
He  turned  his  neck  irritably  in  his  collar  as  it  scratched  him. 

It  was  not  long  before  he  heard  the  swishing  of  water  on 
the  deck,  the  brief  orders  of  the  bosun,  the  pattering  of  bare 
feet  and  the  scrubbing  of  brooms.  Out  on  the  water  the  Caryatid 
lay,  strangely  insignificant.  He  fell  to  wondering  if  he  had 
done  wisely  in  succumbing  to  that  great  desire  to  go  out  and 
see  the  world.  He  was  seeing  it  sure  enough;  but  was  he 
happy?  He  decided  that,  taking  it  all  in  all,  he  was.  And 
then  he  thought  with  anticipating  pleasure  of  going  ashore  with 
Hiram.  Hiram  had  changed  vitally  to  Hannibal's  eyes  since 
boyhood.  This  was  natural.  Three  years  at  a  grammar  school 
are  potent  factors  in  any  personal  equation.  He  had  a  "  tone  " 
which  Hannibal  was  sensitive  to  appreciate  but  too  untutored 
to  ape.  When  he  came  in,  his  trousers  rolled  to  his  knees, 
his  legs  wet  with  salt  water,  his  grey  eyes  smiling,  Hannibal 
felt  that  he  had  not  made  a  mistake  in  acting  upon  that  im- 
pulse and  coming  aboard.     But  he  set  out  to  make  quite  sure. 

"  I  say,"  he  said,  "  I  came  aboard  'ere  accidental,  you  know, 
I  didn't  think  the  sampan  was  comin'  alongside." 

"  Well,  I'm  very  glad  you  did,  Hanny.  Here's  my  chum. 
Harry,  you  remember  this  chap  in  London  ?  " 


420  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

"  I  saw  him  come  aboard,"  said  the  brawny  youth,  shaking 
hands.     "  How  d'you  like  the  briny  ocean  ?  " 

"  It's  none  so  bad,"  said  Hannibal.  "  What  I  was  goin'  to 
say,"  he  went  on  to  Hiram,  "  is  that  I'm  in  the  fo'c'sle  on  the 
Caryatid.     I'm  —  a  trimmer." 

"What  a  job!"  exclaimed  Hiram.     "Pretty  thick,  isn't  it?" 

"  Ah,  at  times.  But  I  soon  got  sick  o'  washin'  dishes.  I'm 
tellin'  you  'cause  I  know  what  the  deck  thinks  .  .  ."  His  eye 
wandered  to  their  faces.  Harry  Grantly,  working  socks  on  to 
his  damp  feet,  grunted. 

"  I've  been  scraping  the  bilges  in  the  fore-peak  all  the  morn- 
ing," he  said.  "  I  don't  know  what  trimming's  like,  but  if  it's 
anyway  worse  than  bilges  you  have  my  sympathy." 

"  Or  guano,"  said  Hiram,  holding  his  nose. 

"  You  understand  ?  "  said  Hannibal.  "  Or  p'raps  you  don't. 
What  I  mean  is,  deck  keep  to  themselves  on  a  steamer,  and 
don't  'ave  any  truck  with  the  firemen.  I  don't  blame  'em  either," 
he  added.     "  They're  a  pretty  tough  lot." 

**  Were  you  going  ashore  ?  "  asked  Hiram. 

"Yes.     Are  you?" 

"  What  is  it,  Harry  ?     Beach  to-night  ?  " 

"  Might  as  well.     We'll  take  a  walk  up  to  the  Quarter,  eh  ?  " 

"Where's  that?"  Hannibal  asked,  and  they  laughed. 

"  Don't  you  know  ?  "  said  Hiram,  and  they  laughed  again. 

"  I've  heard,"  remarked  Hannibal,  and  flushed.  "  I've  never 
been  to  any  o'  those  places,  though." 

"  Oh,"  said  Harry,  peeling.  "  We  just  go  and  have  a  lock 
round,  you  know." 

"  I  see." 

They  laughed  again. 

They  began  to  talk  of  their  voyages,  and  Hannibal  told 
them  of  the  Caryatid's  long  pull  across  the  world,  the  fire  in 
the  bunkers,  the  dust-up  in  Sabang,  and  all  the  little  incidents 
that  make  up  the  simple  annals  of  the  sea.  And  they  in  their 
turn  told  him  of  their  manifold  wanderings,  of  wonderful  places 
like  Rangoon  and  Hong-Kong,  places  with  names  that  rever- 
berated in  the  mind  like  the  solemn  boom  of  a  temple  bell.  He 
found  it  very  pleasant  to  talk  to  these  hard-bitten,  clean-limbed 
youths  with  the  brown  faces  and  clear,  steady  eyes.  They  had 
acquired  a  certain  quiet  dignity,  engendered  of  their  long  lonely 
cruising,  that  sat  quaintly  enough  upon  their  young  shoulders. 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  421 

Had  you  compared  them  in  your  mind  with  a  couple  of  clerks, 
you  would  have  seen  the  enormous  gulf  that  lay  between.  There 
was  a  precision  of  speech  and  gesture,  a  sureness  of  touch,  an 
expression  of  energy  in  repose  in  the  boyish  features  that  is  the 
inalienable  heritage  of  the  sea. 

It  was  when  they  were  ashore  that  Hannibal  found  it  more 
difficult  to  absorb  the  full  spirit  of  their  emancipated  outlook. 
"  I'm  engaged,"  he  protested,  when  they  plagued  him  with  the 
sailor's  catechism,  and  the  dull  red  flush  mounted  to  his  cheeks. 
He  followed  them  in  a  sort  of  panic.  The  heat,  the  dust,  the 
multitudinous  sounds  and  colours,  the  jolting  of  the  rickshaw 
over  the  uneven  roadways,  the  astounding  vistas  of  temple- 
gardens  and  the  vivid  blue  of  the  mountains  beyond  —  these 
things  disturbed  his  wonted  balance.  And  he  realised  with  a 
certain  subconscious  shame  that  in  the  panic  was  pleasure.  He 
felt  as  thougli  he  stood  before  a  great  gaudy  curtain  hung  across 
the  pathway  of  life,  and  he  trembled  all  over  as  he  thought 
of  what  lay  behind.  By  obscure  yet  infallible  channels  he  un- 
derstood that  these  two  young  men  had  already  explored  this 
exquisite  secret. 

As  in  a  dream  he  found  himself  with  them  in  a  strange  room 
up  a  dark  stairway.  It  was  dark  now,  and  the  semi-transparent 
wall  glowed  with  the  light  of  a  lamp  in  the  room  beyond. 
They  sat  there  on  chairs,  their  faces  showing  dimly  to  one 
another  in  the  strange  twilight.  At  times  a  form  would  sud- 
denly grow  enormous  on  the  paper-screen,  fade  away,  and  van- 
ish with  the  inconsequence  of  a  nightmare.  A  small  figure  ap- 
peared abruptly,  a  sharp  silhouette  that  reached  out  a  hand. 
The  panel  slid  silently. 

"  Here  they  come,"  said  Harry. 

They  came,  three  dark  heads  bowed  low  in  a  line,  three 
quaint  little  creatures  in  kimonos  of  violet,  orange,  and  pink, 
with  vivid  splashes  of  crimson,  with  fans  fluttering  in  their 
tiny  hands,  with  hair  coiled  so  firmly  it  seemed  carved  in  jet. 
They  came  in  little  runs,  smiling  out  of  inscrutable  almond 
eyes.  The  young  men  watched,  as  though  the  East  held  them 
in  its  mysterious  grasp.  Hannibal  heard  the  low  musical  mur- 
mur of  a  gong.  The  whole  thing  was  preposterously  unreal. 
He  remembered  his  dreams  of  what  seemed  centuries  ago. 
Dreams  of  fair  creatures  who  were  his  slaves,  phantoms  of  the 
night.     They  were  cold  logic  compared  with  this  tiny  being  who 


422  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

floated  to  him,  whose  porcelain  skin  caressed  his  face,  and  whose 
baby  arms  crept  about  his  neck.  He  felt  suddenly  the  enormous 
humour  of  the  thing.  He  was  a  Gulliver  among  these  Lilliputian 
women.  He  burst  out  laughing.  Here  was  richness  of  expe- 
rience. Here  indeed  went  up  in  flames  the  last  of  the  Little 
Brown  Box.     None  again  could  say  he  had  not  lived.  .  .  . 

The  murmur  of  the  gong  rose  and  fell  on  the  air.  There 
was  a  nervous  quality  in  the  sound  that  made  him  laugh.  He 
felt  that  otherwise  he  would  be  unable  to  look  across  and  meet 
his  companions'  eyes. 

"  You  love  me  ?  "  cooed  the  strange  little  creature,  pinching 
his  ear.  He  looked  round  before  answering  and  found  a  paper 
wall  obstrucing  his  view. 

"  You  love  me,  eh  ?  "  persisted  the  girl. 

"  You,"  he  said,  patting  her  cheek.  "  Why,  you  look  as  if 
you'd  come  off  a  Christmas  tree,  you  funny  little  baggage." 

"  You  no  love  Jappy  gel  ?  "  she  said,  with  her  eternal  smile. 
"All  same.     Chop?" 


XXI 

THEY  were  sixteen  days  out  from  Shiminoseki,  going 
eleven  knots.  Captain  Briscoe  and  Mr.  Cadoxton  ex- 
changed trite  irrelevances  to  relieve  the  tedium  of  the 
watch. 

"What's  the  matter  with  him  anyway,  sir?" 

"  Blest  if  I  know.  I  thought  — 'pon  my  word,  at  one  time  it 
was  cholera.     But  it  would  show  itself  before  now  if  it  was." 

"  He  was  jolly  sick.  I  heard  him  chattering  away  in  that 
spare  berth  one  night.     Absolute  rot,  of  course." 

Captain  Briscoe  took  a  turn  up  and  down  the  bridge.  Mr. 
Cadoxton,  smiling  in  the  darkness,  examined  the  horizon  with 
care  through  his  night  glasses. 

"See  it?"  said  the  Captain. 

"  Nothing  so  far,  sir." 

"  Ought  to  raise  it  soon.  We'll  be  at  anchor  by  breakfast- 
time.     What  was  he  talking  about  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  hardly  care  to  say,  sir.  A  man  says  anything  in 
delirium,  you  know." 

"  What  was  it  ?     Anything  about  me  ?  " 

"  As  a  matter  of  fact,  it  was,  sir.  That  was  why  I  didn't 
care  to  repeat  it.     He  was  quite  '  all  abroad.'  " 

"  Shows  how  murder  will  out,  eh?  " 
I  haven't  repeated  it,  sir,"  replied  Mr.  Cadoxton,  and  he 
resumed  his  scrutiny  of  the  darkness.  Captain  Briscoe  went 
into  the  chart  room  and  studied  the  Madura  Strait.  He  had 
never  been  through  here  before,  but  he  was  under  no  anxiety. 
It  was  absurdly  simple  for  a  ship  in  ballast.  The  soundings 
near  the  point  were  somewhat  vague,  certainly,  but  the  light 
on  the  shoal  to  the  eastward  was  clear.  It  would  be  a  feather 
in  his  cap  if  they  caught  the  charter,  and  here  they  were  fifty 
miles  from  port,  with  two  days  in  hand.  He  had  promised 
each  one  of  the  black  squad  a  pound  if  they  made  Sourabaja 
in  seventeen  days.  It  was  good  going  for  the  old  Caryatid, 
with  her  bottom  curtained  and  festooned  with  weed  and  shell. 
He  relit  his  cigar  and  went  out  again  into  the  night. 

"  There  they  arc,  sir,"  murmured  Mr.  Cadoxton,  and  pointed. 
There  they  were  indeed,  dead  ahead. 

423 


424  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

"  Not  so  bad,"  remarked  Captain  Briscoe. 

"  Very  good,  sir/'  assented  the  young  man.  "  The  currents 
are  beastly  hereabouts.  I  was  ashore  a  week  on  Laut  Island, 
three  years  ago." 

"  Laut's  a  day  behind.  I  am  going  to  keep  as  near  the  shoal 
as  I  can.     I  don't  like  that  end  of  Madura  at  all." 

"  No,  sir." 

The  Old  Man  struck  a  match  and  relit  his  cigar.  The  Third 
Mate  observed  a  look  of  pride  in  his  face. 

"  I  told  you  that  story  was  all  a  fake,  in  the  papers  about 
my  wife?"  Captain  Briscoe  began. 

"  Oh,  yes,  sir." 

"  You  see,  it  don't  do  to  take  these  things  too  much  at  heart, 
does  it?  I  knew  my  wife  wouldn't  do  a  thing  like  that.  She's 
not  that  sort." 

u  No,  sir." 

"  Now  the  young  feller  has  been  telling  things  about  me  in 
his  delirium,  I  suppose  you  think  you've  got  a  pull  on  me, 
eh?" 

"  I  shouldn't  put  it  that  way,  sir.  As  I  said,  I  have  not 
repeated  it,  and  have  no  intention  of  doing  so.  Hadn't  we  bet- 
ter shift  her  half  a  point  to  the  west'ard,  sir?  " 

"  No,  keep  her  as  she  is.  Go  and  look  at  the  patient  log," 
said  the  Captain  in  a  sudden  pet.  Mr.  Cadoxton  took  an  elec- 
tric torch  from  his  pocket  and  fled  away  aft.  Captain  Briscoe 
went  to  the  wheel-house  and  altered  the  course  a  point. 

"  Forty-eight,  sir.  That's  a  hundred  since  noon,"  said  Mr. 
Cadoxton. 

"  You  see,  Mr.  Cadoxton,  I'm  navigating  this  ship,  I  think." 

"  Precisely,  sir,"  said  the  young  man  stiffly,  and  moved  away. 
The  Captain  came  over  and  stood  by  him. 

"  Forget  it,"  he  said.  "  I  get  worked  up,  sometimes.  You 
understand,  Cadoxton?  Worked  up.  That  young  feller's  ill- 
ness has  worried  me." 

"  Oh,  don't  mention  it."     Mr.  Cadoxton  still  spoke  stiffly. 

"  But  I  must.  It  isn't  enough  to  know  you  won't  say  any- 
thing about  what  he  said  of  me.  What  did  he  say?  Out  with 
it." 

"  Merely  that  you  were  a  relative  of  his  by  marriage,  sir. 
I  can't  see " 

"Nothing  else?" 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  425 

Mr.  Cadoxton  was  silent.  He  felt  quite  unable  to  say  what 
else  he  had  heard  the  sick  man  saying.  One  had  to  draw  a  line 
somewhere. 

"  My  God,  Cadoxton!     Do  you  tell  me "     The  Old  Man 

broke  off. 

"  I  didn't  speak,  Captain." 

"  Then  why  don't  you?  " 

"  Very  unpleasant  thing  to  discuss.  Best  to  let  it  drop,"  said 
Mr.  Cadoxton  shortly. 

"  But  suppose  you  can't  let  it  drop,  Cadoxton  ?  Suppose  you 
had  it  with  you  day  and  night  for  months?" 

"Well,  sir?" 

"Well,  Cadoxton,  that's  me.  You  heard  things,  did  you? 
Well,  /  heard  things,  to  my  face  too.  I  went  in  to  see  him  one 
morning,  and  he  says  '  I  can't  make  it  out.'  '  Can't  make  out 
what?'  I  asked  him,  and  he  says,  clear  as  a  bell,  'Sister!'  I 
took  his  arm  to  put  the  thermometer  under  it,  and  he  looked 
at  me  like  a  scared  kitten,  and  says,  '  Why,  I  ought  to  have  told 
'em  about  you.  You're  the  man,'  he  says.  I  tried  to  keep 
steady  and  shoved  his  arm  down  in  the  bunk.  '  Keep  quiet,' 
I  said;  'it  won't  hurt  you/  'Oh,  no,'  he  said,  laughing  to 
himself.  '  A  little  thing  like  that  won't  hurt  me.  My  father's 
dead,  my  brother's  dead,  and  here's  me  dead  too.  Sister's  all 
right,'  he  said.  '  Catch  her  being  dead.  Wonder  why  mother 
ain't  dead  too,  though?  that's  funny.  I  must  ask  the  Old  Man 
about  that'  And  so  he  went  on.  I  couldn't  stand  it,  and  came 
out  and  got  him  a  sleeping  draught.  You  see  what  I'm  going 
through?  And  it  isn't  as  though  it  was  just  for  the  voyage 
cither.     It's  for  every  voyage;  it's  for  all  time,  Cadoxton." 

"  I'm  sorry,  sir,"  said  the  young  man,  but  he  never  took  his 
eyes  from  the  two  lights  ahead. 

"  Some  men,"  said  Captain  Briscoe,  "  would  go  over  the 
side."  He  pulled  himself  together  and  laid  his  hand  on  the 
telegraph.  "  I  knew  a  chief  once  who  was  in  something  of  the 
same  position.  Came  back  to  Swansea  and  found  the  girl  he'd 
been  leaving  half-pay  to  —  you've  heard  the  story,  eh?  Ten 
years!  My  God!  It  got  on  his  mind,  you  see.  But  I'm  going 
to  beat  this,  Cadoxton!  I'm  going  to  win  this  hand.  You're 
young.  You've  got  your  tickets  in  your  pocket,  and  all  your 
life  in  front.  You're  pitying  me,  the  poor  fool  of  a  shell-back 
that's  done  for  himself  by  marrying  out  of  his  course.     Well, 


426  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

you  may  be  down  and  out  yet,  but  you'll  find  I'm  still  living 
and  sticking  in  at  it.  I've  got  one  thing  the  women  can't  touch. 
I'm  master,  and  I've  never  had  an  accident  yet.  Coal- fever  I've 
had,  but  that's  nothing.  The  Chief's  to  blame  there.  Up  here 
my  record's  clean.  That's  all  I  live  for  now.  Eh?  what's 
that?" 

The  look-out  on  the  forecastle  had  shouted  something.  The 
fifteen-second  light  on  the  shoal  threw  a  whitish  green  glare 
over  the  ship. 

"  He  says  he  can  see  the  beach  this  side  of  the  lighthouse, 
sir,"  said  Mr.  Cadoxton. 

"  Port,"  barked  the  Old  Man,  but  it  was  too  late.  The  bows 
of  the  Caryatid  rose  up  as  though  she  were  rearing  back  from 
some  unseen  terror  of  the  sea,  and  she  rolled  over  to  starboard 
and  lay  trembling.  The  Third  Mate  had  dragged  the  handle 
of  the  telegraph  to  full  astern,  and  the  perspiring  Spink,  who 
had  picked  himself  up  from  under  the  forced-draught  fan,  had 
the  time  of  his  life,  throwing  the  reversing-gear  over  all  alone. 
It  was  glorious,  he  thought.  They  were  ashore,  and  him  on 
watch.  No  doubt  about  that.  Look  at  the  chatty  hanging  all 
askew  in  the  ventilator.  The  Chief  came  pouring  down  the 
ladder,  looked  at  the  telegraph,  found  his  pipe  and  hunted  on 
the  vice-bench  for  matches. 

"  Let  her  rip,"  he  muttered,  puffing.  "  They've  piled  her  up 
on  a  coral  reef.  Open  the  fan  a  bit."  And  he  went  up  to  look 
around. 

The  Caryatid's  stern  was  in  deep  water,  her  bows  were  up 
on  a  beach  of  gleaming  coral  within  two  hundred  yards  of  a 
steel-verandahed  lighthouse.  The  heavy  bucking  of  the  pro- 
peller going  astern  at  seventy  revolutions  palpitated  throughout 
the  empty  ship.  Mr.  Hopkins  peered  over  the  side  as  the  light 
swung  around.  Far  away  below  him  he  could  see  the  white 
bunches  of  coral  in  the  shallowing  water.  Humph!  He  be- 
came aware  of  the  Old  Man  standing  beside  him. 

"  Nice  little  business,  eh  ?  "  said  the  Captain,  as  though  he 
were  admiring  a  greengrocer's  shop  in  a  market  town.  "  That's 
working  by  chart,  you  see." 

"Miss  the  charter?" 

"  Looks  damn  like  it.  Here,  Chief,  just  keep  that,  will  you? 
Give  it  me  back  when  we  get  home." 

Mr.   Hopkins   found   something  heavy  drop   into   his   pocket. 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  427 

For  some  moments  after  the  Captain  had  gone  forward  again, 
he  remained  motionless,  looking  over  at  the  water  pouring  in 
torrents  from  the  discharges.  And  then  he  withdrew  for  a  mo- 
ment to  his  room. 

Hannibal,  sleeping  in  the  spare  berth,  woke  to  find  his  face 
pressed  hard  against  the  bulkhead.  He  turned  his  head  and 
listened.  Yes,  the  engines  were  going  —  how  the  ship  trem- 
bled. Going  —  going  astern.  He  sat  up  feebly.  A  faint  glare 
flashed  across  the  room,  and  vanished  —  came  again  —  and  van- 
ished. He  felt  the  curtains  of  the  bunk  tickling  his  ears.  He 
leaned  over  and  turned  up  the  lamp  —  it  was  leaning  away 
from  him  drunkenly.  His  trousers  on  a  hook  on  the  wall  dis- 
played the  same  crazy  propensity.  His  thin  frowsty  face,  with 
the  brown  eyes  ringed  with  blue,  leaned  out  over  the  bunk- 
board.  Suddenly  he  realised  that  he  might  be  in  danger,  and 
he  lay  back  on  the  pillow.  He  heard  footsteps  pass  his  door 
hurriedly.  He  was  forgotten.  Languidly  he  put  a  white,  bony 
leg  over  the  board,  then  the  other,  and  sat  up  pressing  his 
hands  over  his  eyes.  He  felt  very  weak  and  ill.  Tommy  had 
looked  in  that  evening,  and  told  him  he'd  been  crazy  for  a 
week.  Crazy !  What  did  Tommy  mean  by  that  ?  Why,  Tommy 
meant  he  had  been  talking  queer  and  not  knowing  what  he  said. 
He  could  not  remember.     It  made  his  head  tired  to  think. 

Kobe?  Yes,  he  could  remember  that.  And  a  day  or  two  in 
the  bunkers.  And  then?  No  good.  And  he  wanted  a  drink 
of  water.  Where  was  the  bottle?  Of  course,  empty.  He  put 
his  head  out  to  the  chest  of  drawers,  and  explored  with  his  left 
foot  for  the  settee.     Where  was  it,  dammit?     At  last! 

Still  the  ship  shivered,  as  the  engines  raced  astern.  He  crept 
to  the  hooked  door  and  looked  through  the  crevice.  A  man, 
somebody,  one  of  the  crew,  went  past,  and  Hannibal  called  in 
a  husky  whisper,  "  Hi!  What's  up,  eh?  "  But  he  did  not  hear. 
Every  few  seconds  the  light  came  in  his  face  and  made  him 
flinch.  He  fumbled  with  the  hook  and  the  door  slammed  in  his 
face.  He  sat  down  on  the  settee  and  fingered  the  sweat  on  his 
forehead.  What  should  he  do?  He  heard  footsteps  overhead, 
the  hoarse  growl  of  the  bosun,  the  crack  of  a  block  striking  the 
boat-deck.  Boats !  They  were  getting  the  boats  out.  He  made 
another  effort  to  rise,  succeeded,  and  laid  his  thin  hand  on  the 
door  knob.     It  was  stiff,  and  when  it  turned  he  had  to  lean 


428  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

against  it  to  get  it  open.  He  stepped  out  into  the  starlight, 
shivering. 

Upon  the  bridge  he  saw  figures  moving  about,  other  figures 
standing  rigid,  their  elbows  stuck  out  stiffly  as  they  looked 
through  glasses  at  the  lighthouse.  Two  ruby  red  lights  hung 
from  the  foremast  rigging,  one  below  the  other.  Then  with 
a  crack  and  a  groan  of  protest  the  boat  above  his  head  swung 
out-board,  and  the  bosun  shouted,  "  Make  fast."  Hannibal  saw 
some  one  squatting  down  against  the  funnel-casing.  He  crept 
along  the  bulkhead,  shaking  and  with  his  teeth  chattering,  and 
spoke  to  the  man.  The  light  swerved  around  upon  them,  and 
he  saw  the  flattened  smiling  features  of  the  Japanese  fireman  — 
Jan's  successor. 

"What's  matter,  Jappy?"  he  whispered,  and  the  Oriental 
smiled,  showing  all  his  teeth.  He  clashed  his  hands  together, 
with  a  gesture  of  collision,  and  pointed  overside.  Hannibal 
stumbled  to  the  rail  and  looked  down.  The  tide  was  going 
out  and  the  Caryatid's  port  bow  was  high  and  dry.  She  was 
tilted  and  listed  horribly.     And  the  engines  had  stopped. 

The  sailors  came  down  from  the  house  and  drifted  aft  to  get 
out  a  tow  rope.  Tommy  was  one  of  them,  and  he  ran  up  to 
Hannibal,  his  eyes  bright  with  excitement. 

"  She's  ashore,  all  right,  all  right,"  he  spluttered.  "  See  de 
bottom?  Dere!  Nearly  hit  de  lighthouse.  In  de  morning  we 
goin'  to  de  lighthouse.     I'm  going.     Dey  speak  Dutch." 

He  ran  away  after  the  others  and  left  Hannibal  on  the 
bunker  hatch.  He  wondered  what  he  should  do.  It  seemed 
wrong  somehow  to  go  back  to  his  bunk  while  all  the  rest  were 
busy.  He  struggled  to  his  feet  and  went  slowly  along  the  alley- 
way abaft  the  engine-room.  The  Chief  was  standing  there 
talking  to  the  Second,  who  was  in  his  pyjamas. 

"  What  are  you  doin'  out  here  ? "  they  asked  him.  The 
harshness  of  their  voices  appalled  him.  He  leaned  against  the 
house. 

"Can't  —  can't  I  do  anythin',  sir?"  he  quivered,  and  they 
laughed  brutally. 

"  Get  away  and  turn  in,"  said  the  Second,  taking  his  arm. 
Hannibal  resented  this  weakly. 

"Are  they  going  to  leave  me  'ere?  "  he  asked,  hanging  back. 

"  Aw,  go  on  wi'  ye !  What's  the  matter,  man  ?  We  don't 
quit   a   ship   because  she's   ashore.     Come   on!     Here  you   are. 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  429 

Xow  get   in   and  go  to  sleep.     We'll  be  off  in  the  morning." 

But  it  was  not  so.  When  the  dawn  rushed  over  the  Java 
Sea,  the  Caryatid  lay  there,  sullenly  indifferent  to  charters, 
engines,  everything.  The  Mate  had  lowered  a  kedge  anchor 
into  a  boat,  and  rowing  off  had  dropped  it  in  deep  water. 
And  then  with  the  winch  he  had  hauled  it  in  again,  a  few  rags 
of  weed  and  crumbs  of  coral  hanging  to  the  flukes.  Three 
times  he  did  it,  and  then  desisted.  A  small  Dutch  gun-boat, 
grey-white  in  the  dawn,  all  awning  and  brass  hand-rails,  hove 
to  and  offered  to  tow.  She  towed  and  towed,  her  screw  kick- 
ing the  blue  water  into  useless  effervescence,  and  the  Caryatid 
lay  on,  disdainful  of  gun-boats,  her  nose  sticking  up  rudely  to 
the  opaline  sky.     And  to-morrow  her  charter  expired. 

At  six  o'clock  Mr.  Cadoxton,  his  usually  ruddy  face  grey 
from  lack  of  sleep,  took  a  crew  of  four,  including  the  linguistic 
Tommy,  and  rowed  over  the  shallows  to  the  spidery  lighthouse. 
It  was  like  a  many-verandahed  bandstand,  and  they  could  see 
the  occupants  swinging  in  hammocks.  Far  off  on  the  silent  wa- 
ter, black  proas,  with  vast  multicoloured  three-cornered  sails 
hovered  like  enormous  butterflies.  Up  on  the  bridge,  Captain 
Briscoe  walked  swiftly  to  and  fro,  his  hair  and  beard  criss- 
crossed, his  hands  clenched  in  his  pockets  in  impotent  rage, 
counting  the  never-ending  minutes  as  the  Third  Mate  gesticu- 
lated with  the  lighthouse-keeper.  At  last  they  descended  the 
invisible  iron  ladder,  cast  off  and  began  to  row  back.  He  went 
down,  and  waited  by  the  ladder,  as  Mr.  Cadoxton  came  up  hand 
over  hand. 

"  Well?  "  he  asked,  his  voice  harsh  with  anxiety. 

"  He  says,  according  to  Xoordhoff,  sir,  that  the  highest  tide 
of  the  year  is  to-morrow  morning.     She  may  come  off." 

"  How  many  fathom?  " 

"  Three  and  a  quarter  metres,  sir  —  that's  well  over  ten  feet." 

Captain  Briscoe  turned  away. 

"All  hands  there!"  shouted  the  Third  Mate.     "Now!" 

And  the  boat  came  up,  the  blocks  screaming  over  Hannibal's 
head. 

At  breakfast,  Mr.  Hopkins  sat  in  his  accustomed  place,  eat- 
ing the  dry  toast  of  the  bilious.  The  low  hanging  brass  cuddy 
lamp,  that  formed  the  only  ornament  of  the  room,  was  swung 
forward  into  his  face.  He  ignored  it  in  his  impassive  way. 
Spink,  still  flushed  with  the  excitement  of  being  "  down  be- 


430  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

low  at  the  time/'  found  it  necessary  to  prop  his  plate  up  with 
a  piece  of  bread  to  keep  the  porridge  in.  It  was  an  irksome 
business  sitting  at  such  an  angle.  Suppose  she  rolled  over! 
The  Third's  glassy  eye  fixed  on  the  boy  as  he  put  the  fish 
on  the  table,  a  phlegmatic  irresponsive  boy,  impervious  to  hints, 
and  cherishing  a  permanent  grievance  because  he  had  been  trans- 
ferred from  the  Steward's  pantry  to  the  mess-room.  He  re- 
turned the  Third's  stare  without  emotion. 

"  Suppose  she  rolls  over !  "  said  the  Third.  "  You  remember 
that  Italian  ship  at  Spezia,  Chief?  Brand  new,  launched  with- 
out ballast,  went  over  on  her  side.  'Straordinary  thing  that: 
took  half  an  hour  to  do  it  too.  They  got  a  cinematograph  down 
and  made  a  film  of  it.     There  she  is  now." 

Mr.  Hopkins  looked  into  his  tea,  merely  raising  his  eye- 
brows. 

"  Ah,  but  Tich,  that  was  different,  man,"  said  the  Second. 
"  We're  in  deep  water  aft.  She  isn't  making  any  water.  Did 
the  Old  Man  say  anything  about  lightening  her,  Chief?  " 

"  Two  hundred  ton,"  gloomed  the  Chief,  handing  his  cup  to 
the  boy,  "  after  breakfast." 

More  excitement! 

They  were  breaking  open  the  hatch  between  the  funnel  and 
the  bridge  when  the  real  fun  with  signals  began.  All  the  morn- 
ing coasting  craft  and  fishing  proas  had  hung  about  them,  hun- 
gry for  pickings.  Some  even  landed  on  the  coral  by  the  light- 
house and  obtained  information.  The  gunboat  had  gone  away 
up  to  Sourabaja  for  coal,  incidentally  taking  word  to  the  agents. 
The  word  flashed  across  the  wires  to  Singapore,  to  Suez,  to  Malta, 
Marseilles,  Hamburg,  London.  The  price  of  sugar  in  England 
quivered  a  decimal  point.  A  notice  was  up  at  Lloyds,  giving 
her  price  at  eleven  guineas  per  cent  for  reinsurance.  At  noon 
she  was  still  there,  and  the  price  was  eighteen  guineas.  At  tea 
time,  just  as  the  Fourth  proposed  a  game  of  bridge  and  the 
Third  Mate  agreed  to  take  a  hand,  silk-hatted  men,  running 
between  the  Baltic  and  Billiter  Lane,  spoke  of  twenty  guineas 
per  cent. 

But  the  real  fun  was  not  in  the  Baltic;  it  was  on  the  Carya- 
tid, and  the  cause  of  it  was  the  incoming  string  of  steamers. 
One  after  another  they  hove  into  view  —  Dutch  liners,  German 
liners,  British  liners;  they  caught  sight  of  the  Caryatid,  rushed 
up  to  her  and  burst  into  cascades  of  flags.     As  Mr.  Cadoxton 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  431 

told  the  Second  Mate,  "  You  could  see  them  licking  their  lips." 
Salvage ! 

Their  enquiries  were  urgent  and  sincere.  Do  you  want  as- 
sistance? Shall  I  stand  by?  Send  a  boat!  Do  you  need  a 
tow?  And  so  on.  To  all  of  which  the  Caryatid:  "Am  all  right. 
Require  no  assistance.*'  They  swung  there,  reluctant  to  leave 
her,  their  rails  lined  with  passengers,  their  innumerable  port- 
holes sprouting  white  wind-scoops,  their  decks  awninged  from 
stem  to  stern.  They  would  get  tired  at  last,  go  astern  and 
swing  round,  heading  in  disgust  for  Sourabaja. 

Meanwhile  the  coal  eame  up  in  baskets  and  splashed  into 
the  sea  on  either  side.  All  day  long  Hannibal  heard  the  rum- 
ble and  bump  of  the  barrows  in  the  'tween-decks  below  him, 
the  splutter  of  the  winch  and  the  dry  hiss  and  plop  as  the 
coal  hit  the  water.  All  day  long  he  lay  there  in  his  bunk  turn- 
ing things  over  in  his  mind.  Sometimes  his  head  got  light  and 
time  passed  unconsciously.  Sometimes  he  dreamed  and  woke 
with  sweat  on  his  face.  All  the  time  the  bolster  was  wet  under 
his  neck,  turn  it  as  he  might.  He  drank  all  the  water  in  the 
bottle,  and  found  himself  weeping  because  he  could  not  call 
for  more.  At  noon  the  Steward  brought  him  some  broth  and  a 
milk  pudding.  "Water!"  whispered  Hannibal,  showing  a  hot 
tongue. 

My  Gawd !  "   said   the   Steward.     "  Drunk  it  all  ?     I   only 
filled  it  at  breakfast  time."     And  he  went  to  get  more. 

Hannibal  took  a  little  of  the  soup  and  lay  down  again.  He 
did  not  want  milk  pudding.  He  remembered  with  awful  clear- 
ness the  milk  pudding  beside  the  dead  Jan,  on  the  hatch.  At 
four  o'clock  Tommy,  with  his  face  as  black  as  a  nigger-minstrel, 
popped  in  to  give  him  the  news. 

"  I  been  trimmin',"  he  chirruped,  "  down  in  de  'tween-deck. 
It's  pretty  hard  work,  eh?  Second  Mate  'e  says  we  come  off 
soon.     How  you  feel  ?       Bad !  " 

Hannibal  nodded  with  closed  eyes.  Tommy  looked  at  him 
gravely  for  a  moment  and  went  away  to  wash  himself. 

"  I  reckon,"  he  said  to  the  junior  apprentice  as  they  scrubbed 
industriously  at  their  buckets,  "  I  reckon  dat  chap '11  be  a  stiff 
soon,  eh  ?  " 

"  Oh,  he'll  be  all  right,  when  we're  homeward  bound,"  said 
the  other.     "  It's  only  fever." 

To  Hannibal  everything  seemed  an  immense  distance  away. 


432  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

The  noises  on  deck  sounded  dim,  mere  ghosts  of  sounds,  the 
light  of  the  ten-inch  port  was  a  far-off  moon.  He  was  not  con- 
scious of  having  a  body  at  all.  He  seemed  to  float  idiotically  in 
the  bunk.  Only  his  head  ached,  and  the  warm  sticky  perspira- 
tion trickling  behind  his  ears  worried  him. 

Nevertheless  he  was  better.  He  knew  that,  in  a  vague  imper- 
sonal way.  His  wasted  body  had  been  purged  clean,  and  his 
mind,  or  his  soul  if  you  like,  that  was  purged  too.  It  seemed 
to  him  he  had  been  an  awfully  wicked  young  man  in  Japan.  He 
had  given  way  to  his  desires,  regardless  of  everything.  He  tried 
to  think  what  the  Browns  would  say  if  they  only  knew.  Or  his 
mother.  Fancy  him,  of  all  people,  rioting,  drinking  beer,  mak- 
ing himself  sick  on  that  beastly  saki,  sleeping  in  tea-houses.  It 
was  true  he  was  not  the  only  one.  Even  Hiram !  He  wondered 
what  Mrs.  Gaynor  thought.  Did  she  know?  She  seemed  to 
know  a  good  deal  more  than  she  ever  let  on.  What  a  time  it 
was ! 

But  it  was  all  over  and  done  with.  The  sickness  had  cleared 
all  the  dross  from  his  nature.  He  was  going  home.  Oh!  how 
glad  he  would  be  to  get  back  to  Swansea,  to  lean  his  head  on 
Nellie's  shoulder  and  pray  her  to  look  after  him.  The  tears 
gathered  under  his  eyelids  and  ran  down  his  cheek  to  his  ears 
as  he  thought  of  it.  The  sea  had  been  too  much  for  him.  He 
loved  it,  for  all  that.  The  great  beautiful  round  blue  sea!  It 
had  lured  him,  tempted  him,  crushed  him,  purged  him.  He  did 
not  want  to  die.  He  was  young,  yet  how  old  he  felt!  Some- 
times it  seemed  as  though  he  had  lived  through  a  lifetime  in  the 
last  six  months.  And  Billiter  Lane,  where  even  now  silk-hatted 
men  discussed  the  re-insurance  of  the  Caryatid,  seemed  a  hun- 
dred million  miles  away. 

It  was  tide-time  at  seven  o'clock  that  evening,  but  the  bridge 
party  on  the  after-deck,  gathered  on  stools  round  a  wicker  table 
the  Third  had  bought  in  Las  Palmas,  cut  and  played  as  though 
they  were  in  port.  Mr.  Hopkins,  grown  tired  of  Ivanhoe,  leaned 
over  the  bulwarks  and  eyed  the  little  island  of  coal  alongside. 
It  made  his  heart  bleed,  for  it  was  good  Moji  stuff,  and  he  knew 
the  vile  Bengal  rubbish  awaiting  him  in  Sourabaja.  Suddenly 
he  threw  up  his  head.  He  put  his  fingers  in  his  mouth  and  sent 
forth  a  piercing  whistle.  The  bridge-players  looked  up. 
"  Movin' !  "  he  called  hoarsely.  "  She's  shiftin'.  Get  the  stops 
open,  Spink." 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  433 

Over  went  the  stools,  tables,  cards,  everything.  The  bridge- 
party  had  vanished.  The  Old  Man  on  the  bridge  tugged  at 
the  telegraph,  for  he  too  had  been  leaning  over  the  rail  and 
noticed  the  slight  movement.  Down  below  the  Second  was 
breaking  every  recommendation  of  the  Board  of  Trade,  getting 
steam  into  the  engines.  The  excited  Spink  splashed  oil  round 
on  the  cups,  in  the  crankpit,  on  the  Second's  head,  everywhere. 
The  Third  stood  to  the  stokehold,  and  told  Angelatos  that  his 
mother  was  no  better  than  she  should  have  been,  and  watched 
the  steam  gauge  needle  crawl  round.  The  engines  responded 
to  the  Second's  efforts  with  much  hammering  of  water  traps, 
much  groaning  of  journals.  Then,  with  a  rush  and  a  storm  of 
escaping  steam  she  started.  Away  aft  the  water  surged  under 
the  shuddering  counter,  and  the  Second  Mate  strained  his  eyes 
to  detect  any  movement  of  the  ship.  Mr.  Hopkins,  wondering 
if  the  Second  had  bust  anything,  kept  his  eye  on  the  lighthouse. 
Some  one  shouted,  "  She's  goin' ! "  And  some  one  else,  less 
sanguine,  drawled,  "  No,  is  she  ?  " 

But  she  was.  This  time  the  sanguine  one  had  it.  Down 
below,  as  they  raced  round  thumbing  the  bearings,  shifting  the 
checks,  and  doing  all  the  little  things  overlooked  in  the  first  mad 
turmoil,  Spink  created  a  sensation  by  pointing  to  the  chatty 
hanging  in  the  ventilator.  It  was  straight!  It  quivered,  swing- 
ing slightly  from  side  to  side,  as  though  it  said,  "  There !  what 
do  you  think  of  that?     I'm  straight  again !  " 

"  She's  away  sure  enough,"  admitted  the  Second.  "  Floatin'," 
and  he  watched  the  telegraph. 

44  Home  for  Christmas,  Spink !  "  bellowed  the  Third,  as  he 
twirled  the  swab-bush  in  the  pot.  "  Stories  round  the  fire  — 
mistletoe  —  stockin's  —  brandy  round  the  duff,  Spink !  " 

44  No  wonder  I  sold  a  farm  to  go  to  sea,"  grinned  Spink. 


XXII 

THEY  made  up  a  bed  for  him  on  the  poop,  just  by  the 
ice-box,  and  from  there  he  caught  sight  of  Perim,  as 
they  began  the  race  neck-and-neck  with  the  deserts  up 
the  Red  Sea.  It  had  been  a  long  hot  day  across  the 
Indian  Ocean  via  Colombo,  and  the  Red  Sea  was  fifteen  hundred 
miles  long.  Six  days  they  ploughed  onward,  and  Hannibal  won- 
dered why  it  was  called  Red.  It  certainly  was  red-hot.  The 
winds  from  the  desert  struck  his  face  like  a  furnace  blast,  and 
little  birds  dropped  dead  on  the  deck  with  the  heat.  He  used 
to  watch  them  flying,  screaming  with  agony  as  the  death-hawks 
pursued  them.  Poor  little  things,  to  come  so  far  to  find  death! 
One  night  he  looked  up  at  the  ice-box  and  saw  two  of  them 
asleep  side  by  side,  their  beaks  laid  together  for  comfort.  He 
raised  himself  gently  and  drew  near  to  them,  but  they  slept 
on.  "  Poor  little  dicks,"  he  muttered,  feeling  a  lump  in  his 
throat.  It  moved  him  profoundly,  the  sight  of  those  tiny  casuals 
of  the  sea,  and  he  never  forgot  it.  Somehow  they  seemed  akin 
to  him,  and  the  yellow  death-hawks  with  their  spotted  plumage 
and  horrible  faces  —  they  were  efficients.  Their  wings  were 
strong,  their  sight  was  keen,  their  beaks  were  sharp,  like  those 
clever  people  who  made  money  and  looked  down  on  him  at  home. 

One  morning,  as  the  Gulf  of  Suez  loomed  ahead  and  the 
cool  breeze  flapped  the  awning,  he  asked  for  his  clothes.  He 
wanted  to  get  up  and  work.  The  Chief  lounged  along  and 
inspected  him.  There  was  not  much  of  him  except  skin  and 
bone,  and  Mr.  Hopkins  shook  his  head.     The  Second  joined  him. 

"  If  you  want  to  turn  to,"  said  the  latter,  "  come  into  the 
engine-room.  I'll  put  Snyder  in  the  bunker,  Chief.  There's 
worlds  of  scouring  to  do.  I  daren't  go  into  Liverpool  with  an 
engine-room  like  a  ship-chandler's  store.  You  go  on  day-work, 
six  to  six,  see?  What  you  want  is  plenty  of  soup  and  greens. 
You'll  soon  pick  up." 

So  into  the  engine-room  he  went,  and  picked  up  to  a  certain 
extent.  It  was  amazingly  good  to  be  about  again,  to  feel  one 
was  useful,  and  the  Third  made  him  Jaugh  so  much  that  his 

434 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  435 

weak  body  ached.  They  were  all  very  joyful  because,  barring 
accidents,  they  would  be  home  for  Christmas.  All  day  long 
they  toiled,  painting,  scrubbing,  polishing.  Hannibal  went  all 
over  the  hand-rails,  and  even  Mr.  Hopkins  made  humorous  signs 
that  the  brilliance  was  painful  to  his  eyes. 

They  passed  through  the  Canal  at  night,  and  Hannibal,  with 
his  overcoat  buttoned  up,  for  it  was  piercingly  cold,  watched  the 
great  beam  of  the  searchlight  cutting  into  the  darkness.  What 
a  treat  it  was  to  be  cool  again!  And  then  Malta.  He  thought 
Malta  very  beautiful  that  morning,  as  they  came  in  among  the 
warships  and  liners.  He  bought  himself  a  blanket  and  some 
clothing,  for  all  the  old  ones  were  nearly  done  for.  And  just 
as  a  little  luxury  after  his  long  privations,  he  bought  a  box  of 
cigars.     It  reminded  him  of  the  Little  Brown  Box. 

He  had  letters  at  Malta  too,  from  Nellie  and  his  mother. 
Mrs.  Gooderich  did  not  excel  in  correspondence.  She  said  they 
were  getting  on  very  well.  Minnie  was  out  a  good  deal  —  had 
grand  friends  that  Mrs.  Wilfley  introduced  her  to,  and  they 
had  a  little  servant.  Altogether  they  were  not  doing  so  badly. 
She  never  heard  from  Kennington  now.  They  had  their  own 
friends.  Mrs.  Gaynor  had  written  saying  she  had  heard  from 
Hiram,  how  they  had  met  in  Japan.  That  was  very  nice.  Mrs. 
Gaynor  said  Hiram  wrote  fine  long  letters,  telling  her  what  he 
saw  and  all  the  wonderful  places  he  visited  —  why  didn't  Hanny 
do  that  too? 

Nellie's  letter  didn't  contain  much,  but  it  was  enough.  When 
was  he  coming  home?  She  had  no  idea  this  silly  old  world  was 
so  big.  Old  Snickery  was  breaking  up.  The  old  fool  would 
drink  himself  crazy  soon.  The  "  Stormy  Petrel "  was  doing 
big  business  —  she  had  no  time  at  all.  With  "  love  from  his 
chatter-box  "  and  a  quaint  "  God  bless  you,  dearie,"  at  the  end. 

And  almost  before  they  could  realise  it,  there  was  Gibraltar 
"  grand  and  grey,"  like  a  lump  of  England  dropped  down  in  the 
Mediterranean,  on  the  starboard  bow.  Well!  He  had  seen 
it;  seen  Singapore,  seen  the  "  far-flung  battle  line  "  of  old  Eng- 
land. He  was  a  man  now,  he  thought,  as  he  scoured  and  polished 
the  brasswork,  a  man  with  money  coming  to  him,  and  a  girl 
waiting  for  him.  This  at  least  the  sea  had  done,  and  he  was 
not  dissatisfied. 

They  ran  into  the  Bay  and  found  it  in  a  bad  mood.  The 
sky  shut  down  on  them,  and  the  great  grey-white  waves  came 


436  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

out  of  the  west  and  crashed  aboard.  The  ship  looked  very  bare 
with  all  the  awnings  stowed  away.  He  could  hardly  realise 
it  was  winter  time.  Only  a  week  or  two  back  they  had  been 
in  the  Red  Sea.  The  water  was  freezing  cold,  the  forecastle- 
ports  leaked,  and  the  bogey  wouldn't  burn.  He  would  squat  in 
the  store  in  the  engine-room  for  warmth,  and  watch  the  engi- 
neers swaying  to  and  fro  as  they  did  their  work.  And  then  one 
morning,  just  as  he  was  coming  down  the  ladder,  the  engines 
pulled  up  with  a  bang.  He  never  forgot  the  Second's  face  at 
that  moment.  He  took  his  pipe  from  his  mouth,  and  in  one 
glance  looked  at  the  gauges,  the  levers,  the  throttle,  the  fan. 
He  did  not  run  wild.  He  just  used  about  three  seconds  to 
think,  and  then  he  went  quietly  to  the  fan  and  stopped  it* 
The  Chief  came  down  the  ladder  at  once  in  his  pyjamas,  and 
gave  the  same  keen  glance  at  the  vital  parts. 

"  Eh,"  he  muttered,  putting  the  telegraph  to  "  Stop." 
"Stopped  dead,"  said  the  Second  blankly.     "Slide's  bruk?  " 
"  Get  'em  all  out,"  said  Mr.  Hopkins.     "  I'll  go  and  tell  the 
Old  Man." 

The  Third  and  Fourth  came  tumbling  down  as  soon  as  Han- 
nibal told  them,  and  they  began.  There  was  no  fuss,  no  excite- 
ment, no  profanity.  The  Caryatid  rolled  in  the  trough  of  the 
great  Atlantic  waves,  and  it  was  difficult  to  work  quickly,  but 
they  stuck  to  it,  silently  and  with  infinite  care  and  patience. 
He  could  not  help  feeling  proud,  ridiculously  proud.  They  were 
foolish,  silly  men  in  fine  weather,  grumbling  at  everything,  curs- 
ing their  fate,  and  judging  many  things  wrong.  But  here,  in  a 
pinch,  by  God,  they  were  men!  It  took  them  three  blistering 
hours  to  get  the  broken  throttle  valve  out  and  repair  it.  As  the 
last  nut  was  screwed  up,  the  Third  began  to  sing,  "  I  fear  no 
foe  in  shining  armour!  "  and  the  volatile  Spink  made  a  spring  for 
the  fan. 

"  Go  easy  now,"  said  the  Chief,  wiping  his  face  with  a  piece 
of  waste.     And  he  looked  round  vaguely  for  a  box  of  matches. 

Up  on  the  bridge  the  Mate  and  the  Old  Man  steadied  their 
bodies  to  the  roll  and  looked  sombrely  at  the  two  black-balls 
swaying  in  the  wind.  They  felt  very  helpless,  as  sailors  do 
when  the  coffee-mill  goes  wrong.  Mr.  Hopkins  had  been  far 
from  clear  in  his  accounts  of  the  trouble.  How  long?  H'm! 
They  could  search  him!  and  he  had  gone  down  again.     Their 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  437 

oilskins  flapped  about  their  legs  as  the  wind  rushed  in  wild 
gusts  about  the  chart-house.     It  was  weary  waiting. 

Captain  Briscoe  waived  breakfast  and  kept  his  place,  waiting, 
waiting  for  the  telegraph.  Half-past  eight  passed  and  no 
sound.  Overside  the  seas  boiled  and  fell  up  against  the  bul- 
warks in  dull  thuds.  How  slow  time  moved!  What  was  the 
matter  down  there?  Eight  months  those  engines  had  run  with- 
out a  murmur,  and  here,  almost  in  sight  of  England,  something 
had  gone  bang.  Were  they  hiding  something?  Was  that  Chief 
afraid  to  tell  him?  Fancy  being  towed  in  after  being  aground, 
and  his  first  voyage!  But  he  knew  in  his  heart  that  the  silent 
little  man  in  charge  was  not  likely  to  be  afraid  to  tell  him. 
Still,  why  didn't  they  hurry?  He  wanted  to  get  in  and  get 
finished.  He  had  something  to  do  when  he  got  the  ship  in. 
He  would  be  up  against  another  problem.  But  to  be  towed  in! 
He  felt  he  would  rather  .  .  . 

And  then  the  pointer  of  the  telegraph  whirled  round  as  Spink 
worked  the  handle,  round  and  back,  round  and  back,  and  then 
on  to  "  Full  ahead."  He  answered  at  once,  and  turned  to  find 
Mr.  Cadoxton  at  his  elbow. 

"  I  went  down  below  to  have  a  look,  sir,"  he  said.  "  It's  all 
right.     Mr.  Hopkins  says  it'll  take  us  into  Liverpool." 

"  Cadoxton,"  said  the  Captain,  "  I've  been  twenty-eight  months 
in  a  wind-bag,  and  felt  it  less  than  this  run." 

"  Yes,  sir,  it  has  been  a  bit  of  a  strain.  But  we'll  be  in  Liver- 
pool inside  of  a  week." 

The  young  man  looked  up  at  the  sharp,  drawn  face  under 
the  sou'-wester,  the  fierce  eyes  straining  into  the  grey  weather, 
the  bleak  crinkled  nose  wet  with  moisture.  Not  a  bad  little 
chap,  even  if  he  was  a  bit  of  an  outsider,  don't  you  know.  And 
he  began  to  think  of  Christmas  in  the  pleasant  Leicestershire 
country;  snow  perhaps,  and  skating.  His  brother  the  barris- 
ter would  be  down,  and  his  young  brother  at  Oxford,  with  his 
chum;  awfully  jolly  it  would  be.  Such  a  treat  to  get  into 
one's  dress  clothes  again.  The  weather?  Oh,  blow  the  weather! 
This  was  nothing,  so  long  as  they  could  keep  punching  into  it. 

And  Hannibal  down  below,  he  too  was  disdainful  of  the 
weather.  As  he  cleaned  up  the  place  after  the  battle  with  the 
broken  valve,  he  felt  unreasonably  glad  that  he  had  been  there, 
if  only  as  a  helper.     There  was  something  in  that  little  tussle 


488  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

with  the  forces  of  nature  that  appealed  to  him.  You  didn't  meet 
men  like  them  in  warehouses  and  retail  shops,  did  you?  He  had 
watched  their  faces  as  they  had  toiled,  faces  set  hard  under  the 
grease  and  sweat.  He  heard  the  Second  talking  quietly. 
"  Now,  Spink,  don't  get  excited,  son."  Spink,  the  youthful 
hilarious  Spink,  with  his  teeth  gritted  together,  one  sinewy  hand 
hanging  to  the  grating,  while  his  body  writhed  to  reach  a  reluc- 
tant and  exceedingly  hot  nut.  And  the  Third  too,  surpassing 
the  others  in  his  skill  in  making  slings  and  knots,  producing 
little  steel  wedges  unexpectedly  from  his  pockets  at  just  the 
right  moment  like  a  conjurer,  his  face  an  impenetrable  mask  of 
contempt. 

"  It's  moving/'  said  Spink.  "  Aye,  like  a  little  dog's  tail," 
said  the  Third.  "  It's  coming,"  squeaked  Spink.  "  Aye,  but 
Christmas  is  near."  And  down  on  the  plates  the  Chief  stood 
with  upturned  face  watching  them,  watching  the  gauges,  watch- 
ing everything,  with  never  a  word.  They  knew  their  work, 
didn't  they?  Well  then,  and  sometimes,  but  quite  casually,  he 
glanced  at  the  clock. 

The  young  man  felt  he  had  seen  something  worth  while  that 
morning,  something  he  could  remember  with  keen  pleasure.  It 
was  not  that  these  men  feared  death  or  that  they  loved  the 
owners,  that  they  had  done  this  thing  so  valiantly.  No,  there 
was  something  deeper  than  that.  That  grey  old  master,  the 
sea,  called  them,  and  they  answered.  They  would  be  paid  off  in 
port,  and  be  scattered  abroad  over  the  earth,  never  to  meet  again 
—  no  matter.  The  sea  called,  and  they  answered.  To  each 
other  they  said  it  was  nothing.  They  had  heard  of  real  break- 
downs, crank-shafts  snapped,  air-pumps  gone  to  glory,  cylinder- 
heads  blown  out.  Dreadful  were  the  stories  with  which  they 
passed  the  dog-watch  that  night.  The  Third  lied  brazenly  about 
"  the  last  ship  I  was  in,"  until  the  Chief  muttered,  "  Forget  it ! 
I  heard  that  yarn  twenty  years  ago,  and  it  was  old  then."  What 
a  life! 

What  did  it  matter?     They  would  be  home  for  Christmas. 

And  so  they  were.  The  gale  hauled  off,  or  else  they  did 
punch  through  it,  everybody  forgot  which;  and  on  a  fine,  clear 
winter  night,  they  picked  up  a  pilot  off  Anglesea.  Almost  with 
a  feeling  of  sadness,  Hannibal  took  his  bag  down  to  give  it  a 
scrub.  He  felt  all  right  now,  though  a  little  shaky  on  his  pins, 
as  he  told  the  Chief.     Even  the  cloddish  occupants  of  the  fore- 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  439 

castle  were  bestirring  themselves.  Men  got  out  stubby  pencils 
and  figured  on  old  magazines  the  possible  total  of  pay,  forgetting 
to  allow  for  all  little  advances  —  the  ten  pesetas  in  Las  Palmas, 
the  two  dollars  in  New  York,  the  twenty  yen  in  Kobe,  the  five 
guilders  in  Sourabaja.  But  Mr.  Cadoxton,  sitting  in  the  cabin 
surrounded  by  documents,  did  not  forget  them,  and  it  was  won- 
derful, when  they  were  added  up,  how  much  there  was  to  come 
off  the  total. 

Fog  held  them  in  the  river,  a  dripping  low-lying  bank  so 
thick  you  could  not  see  your  hand  before  your  face.  All  around 
them  sirens  screamed  and  whistles  bellowed,  and  sometimes  a 
ghostly  ship  came  perilously  close,  the  thump  of  her  propeller 
sounding  with  startling  distinctness  for  a  moment.  Hannibal 
sat  on  the  warm  fiddle-grating,  and  looked  out.  Fog?  He 
laughed  at  the  idea.  He  had  been  brought  up  to  call  this  white 
cotton-woolly  stuff  mist.  Fog,  to  his  metropolitan  consciousness, 
was  different.  How  homelike  it  was,  though,  after  the  burning 
crystalline  East,  after  the  interminable  days  of  shining  blue 
water.  It  seemed  like  a  beautiful,  dreadful,  unforgettable 
dream,  a  dream  from  which  he  was  returning,  through  a  sleepy 
phantasmal  fog,  to  real  life  again.  Beyond  that  vaporous  mys- 
tery lay  Nellie  and  warm  fires,  home,  love,  long  mornings  in  bed. 
After  all,  he  was  tired. 

And  once  or  twice  he  coughed  huskily. 

At  length,  after  much  waiting  and  manoeuvring,  after  long 
hooting  and  ringing  of  bells,  they  came  into  the  dock.  It  was 
morning,  and  tiie  mists  had  rolled  away. 

Beyond  the  river  wall  lay  a  huge  liner  at  anchor,  her  great 
funnels  reared  up  against  the  sky-line.  For  a  moment  Hannibal 
forgot  the  imminence  of  his  departure,  forgot  the  insistent  calls 
to  come  ashore  and  have  a  drink.  He  leaned  over  the  bulwarks 
and  stared  at  the  broad  stream  and  the  steamer.  How  he  loved 
tli-  in,  those  splendid  runners  of  the  sea!  Men  lived  there,  toiled 
and  rejoiced,  cursed  and  did  their  work.  And  the  old  out-classed 
steamers  laid  up  alongside  —  he  loved  them  too,  unkempt,  rusty, 
and  bluff-bosomed  though  they  were.  They  were  casuals  of  the 
sea,  going  blindly  as  the  markets  bade  them  up  and  down, 
across  and  across,  so  they  fetched  and  carried  to  feed  the  roaring 
looms  and  busy  mills  of  all  the  lands.  And  when  no  hand  was 
lifted,  no  charter  signed,  they  lay  there  silently,  patiently,  in 
one  side,  paying  no  heed  as  tides  ebbed  and  flowed,  claiming 


440  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

humbly  but  space  in  which  to  rest,  their  masts  flaunting  no 
joyous  ensign  to  affright  the  spirit  of  decay  that  crept  up  the 
river  on  the  dripping  fog. 

"  Hi,  man !  Get  yourself  ready.  They  pay  off  at  ten  o'clock," 
called  a  voice  from  the  forecastle  door. 

"  I'm  coming,"  he  replied,  turning.  The  voyage  was  over  at 
last. 


XXIII 

A  SHIPPING  office  is  a  region  given  over  to  the  com- 
monplace. Inside  of  the  heavily-latched  doors  you 
are  out  of  the  hearing  of  the  great  happenings  of  the 
sea.  On  those  distempered  walls  of  ashen  grey  are 
pinned  curt  notices  of  trumpery  court-cases,  fines  for  over-load- 
ing, imprisonments  for  falsifying  discharges,  nagging  circulars 
or  recommendations,  illegible  lists  of  bygone  salvage  crews,  pa- 
thetic appeals  for  seamen's  homes.  Behind  the  broad  mahogany 
sit  disdainful  young  men  in  immaculate  raiment,  industrious, 
distant,  and  incredibly  skilful  with  the  pen.  There  is  some- 
thing of  the  workhouse  office  about  it  all,  with  its  bleak  cleanli- 
ness, its  chilling  silences,  its  penetrating  odour  of  documents,  its 
dry  disregard  of  the  souls  of  men. 

At  eleven  o'clock  Captain  Briscoe  walked  into  the  discharging 
room  quickly,  a  brown  leather  bag  hanging  heavily  from  his  hand, 
and  lifting  the  hinged  leaf  in  the  end  of  the  counter,  went  round 
behind.  A  clerk  looked  up  from  his  writing  and  nodded  good 
morning,  which  the  Captain  returned,  setting  his  hat  and  um- 
brella in  a  corner.  Seating  himself  at  the  corner  he  opened  his 
bag  with  a  curious  air  of  preoccupation.  He  took  out  the  ship's 
papers,  set  them  to  one  side,  and  spread  before  him  a  crumpled 
telegram. 

In  twos  and  threes  the  crew  sidled  shyly  into  the  space  before 
him,  their  boots  ringing  on  the  clean  bare  floor.  Gradually  they 
separated  into  little  groups,  sailor  seeking  sailor,  fireman  fire- 
man; the  engineers  standing  aloof  at  the  far  end,  their  bowler 
hats  held  decorously  against  their  chins.  Mr.  Hopkins,  for- 
bidden by  the  law  to  smoke,  stood  with  his  left  hand  in  his 
overcoat  pocket  as  though  feeling  for  matches,  his  untidy  mous- 
tache drooping,  profoundly  depressed.  The  Third  stood  with 
his  back  to  the  others,  reading  without  emotion  a  notice  which 
mentioned  that  if  he,  Eustace  Richard  Titheradge,  applied  to 
the  offices  of  the  Board  of  Trade,  or  any  shipping  office  in  the 
United   Kingdom,  he  would  be   put  in  possession  of  a  bronze 

441 


442  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

medal  due  to  him  as  one  of  the  crew  of  the  steamer  Pharos,  who 
had  rescued  the  crew  of  the  Norwegian  barque  Ingeborg  in  the 
Bay  of  Biscay,  six  years  before.  Having  read  it,  he  turned  and 
surveyed  the  crew  of  the  Caryatid  with  a  blank  stare.  Tommy, 
his  round  cherubic  face  appearing  above  the  grey  muffler,  leaned 
on  the  radiator  and  studied  a  slip  of  paper  —  his  account  of 
wages.  Hannibal  stood  beside  him  nibbling  the  edge  of  his 
tweed  cap,  and  watching  the  Old  Man. 

The  door  opened  again  and  admitted  Mr.  Cadoxton.  Mr. 
Cadoxton  did  not  remove  his  hat  like  the  rest  of  the  crew.  He 
betrayed  no  sign  of  being  overawed  by  the  atmosphere  of  the 
place.  He  walked  quickly  to  the  leaf,  ducked  under  it,  and 
appeared  beside  Captain  Briscoe.  From  his  pocket  he  drew  a 
gloved  hand  containing  a  bank  envelope.  The  Captain  closed 
his  hand  on  the  telegram,  crushed  it  up  and  put  it  in  his  pocket. 
Every  now  and  again  the  door  would  open  and  a  strange  face 
would  peer  round  the  room,  only  to  withdraw  hastily. 

Captain  Briscoe  laid  a  thick  wad  of  bank-notes  on  the  counter, 
and  poured  the  bag  of  silver  and  gold  upon  them.  Hannibal 
looked  at  the  money  curiously.  It  was  the  first  time  he  had 
ever  seen  hundreds  of  pounds.  He  tried  to  imagine  how  it  had 
come  there.  By  what  magic  was  the  skipper,  coming  up  out  of 
the  fog  of  the  river,  out  of  the  great  sea  spaces,  able  to  persuade 
these  shore-people  that  he  was  the  rightful  steward  of  all  that 
money?  It  was  very  marvellous.  Only  a  few  hours  ago,  you 
might  say,  they  were  down  there  in  the  Irish  Sea,  and  here,  with 
the  speed  of  a  fairy  tale,  gold  appeared,  the  gold  for  which  they 
had  toiled  so  long.  He  looked  at  the  wages  list.  He  was  to 
receive  as  a  final  balance  thirty-two  pounds.  He  felt  suddenly 
timid  as  he  tried  to  realise  the  immensity  of  the  sum.  He 
would  have  to  put  it  in  a  safe  place  —  he  might  be  robbed.  He 
wanted  to  be  rid  of  it  before  he  had  received  it.  He  had  heard 
stories  in  the  forecastle  of  men  who  had  met  friends  outside  the 
shipping  office.  As  he  nibbled  his  cap  he  heard  his  name  called 
by  Mr.  Cadoxton,  and  stepped  forward.  All  around  him  men 
stood  with  heads  bent  over  curved  palms  making  hasty  calcula- 
tions. The  clerk  swung  the  articles  around  and  pointed  to  the 
place  where  he  was  to  sign.  Mr.  Cadoxton  peeled  off  six  bank- 
notes, selected  some  loose  gold  and  silver  from  the  heap,  and 
pushed  them  towards  him.  There  was  a  whispered  conversa- 
tion between  the  clerk  and  the  Captain. 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  443 

"Wait/'  said  the  latter.  "Wait  for  your  discharge-book. 
Go  and  get  measured.     Over  there." 

Hannibal  turned  uncertainly,  and  the  beaming  Tommy  pointed 
to  a  blue-uniformed  officer  who  was  beckoning  him  to  the  wall. 
Hannibal  went  over  and  stood  with  his  back  against  a  graduated 
pillar,  and  the  official  slid  the  gauge  down  until  it  touched  his 
head.  Five  feet  eight.  He  smiled  sheepishly  as  he  caught  the 
eye  of  Spink.  He  saw  them  pass  up  one  by  one  and  sign  the 
paper.  By  that  delicate  reversion  of  precedence  affected  by 
ships'  articles,  Mr.  Hopkins  appeared  last.  Hannibal,  looking 
at  him,  had  a  sudden  conviction  that  the  whole  business  was  a 
dream.  That  drooping,  untidy  little  man  with  his  sagging  over- 
coat, his  green  neck-tie  up  over  his  collar,  his  ill-kept  nails,  his 
expression  of  hopeless  melancholy  —  was  he  the  man  who  had 
been  his  boss  for  so  long?  Hannibal  stared  at  him,  as  he  grasped 
the  pen  to  sign  against  ninety-four  pounds  seven  and  a  penny, 
and  saw  his  left  hand  come  out  of  his  pocket  holding  a  paper 
parcel. 

"  Here,"  said  Mr.  Hopkins  to  the  Captain,  "  want  it  now  ?  " 

For  a  moment  the  Old  Man  looked  blank.  And  then  he  re- 
membered.    He  put  out  his  hand. 

"  Thank  you,  Chief,"  he  said  clearly.     "  Much  obliged." 

Mr.  Cadoxton's  eyes  strove  to  appear  unconcerned.  When 
the  shiny  blue  discharge-book  had  been  made  out  and  handed 
to  him,  and  Hannibal  turned  to  go,  he  found  the  place  empty, 
save  for  the  official  who  had  measured  him.  He  opened  the 
door  to  go  out  into  the  chill  wind  that  blew  around  the  corner. 
He  felt  lonely,  and  strange.     And  there  was  the  money. 

"  Why  don't  you  put  it  in  the  bank?  "  asked  the  man  in  the 
blue  uniform,  as  though  reading  his  thoughts. 

"  'Ere?  "  asked  Hannibal,  and  the  man  nodded.  "  Come  this 
way,"  he  said,  and  led  the  young  man  into  another  room  with 
brass  railings  over  the  counter.  In  a  few  minutes  he  had  made 
out  a  form  which  would  entitle  him  to  draw  his  money  in 
Swansea. 

"Keep  the  two  pounds  odd,"  suggested  the  official;  "you'll 
have  to  pay  your  fare." 

"  Of  course,"  laughed  Hannibal.  "  I  forgot  that."  He  put 
the  warrant  in  his  pocket  and  went  out  again. 

"  Dirty  weather,"  he  remarked.  "  How  do  you  get  to  the 
station  from  'ere  ?  " 


444  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

"  Car  at  the  top  of  the  street.  Take  a  Lime  Street  car/*  said 
the  man. 

"  Thanks.     Oh !  'ere's  the  Old  Man !  " 

Captain  Briscoe,  accompanied  by  Mr.  Cadoxton,  came  out, 
putting  up  their  coat-collars. 

"  Tell  the  Mate  I'll  be  back  for  dinner,"  said  he  to  the  Third 
Mate.     "  Here,  Gooderich,  come  with  me." 

Somewhat  amazed,  Hannibal  found  himself  hurrying  up  the 
road  beside  Captain  Briscoe. 

"  Understand,"  said  the  Captain,  "  you  can't  come  back  in 
the  ship." 

"  I'm  going  to  Swansea,  sir,"  he  replied  quickly. 

"  There's  no  need  to  sir  me  now.  You  are  off  the  articles, 
and  your  sister  is  my  wife." 

"  I  can't  imagine  it,"  said  Hannibal,  coughing.  "  But  then 
I  don't  know  her  very  well." 

"Do  you  know  where  we  are  going?"  demanded  the  Cap- 
tain. 

"  No  idea,"  said  Hannibal.  The  Captain  took  the  crumpled 
telegram  from  his  pocket  and  handed  it  to  him.  His  unaccus- 
tomed eyes  wandered  over  the  carboned  scrawl. 

"  Staying  Mason's  Hotel.  Saw  Caryatid  due  this  morning. 
Minnie." 

"  Why,"  he  exclaimed,  "  she's  here,  then !  " 

"  We  are  going  there  now,"  said  the  Captain. 

"Me!" 

"  Yes,  you.  We've  got  to  get  acquainted.  On  the  ship  — 
impossible  —  discipline  against  it  —  Understand  ?  " 

They  swung  up  on  a  tramcar  going  up  Church  Street.  Han- 
nibal felt  troubled  about  this  business.  He  resented  being 
dragged  into  other  people's  affairs. 

"  I  want  to  get  a  train  to  Swansea,"  he  mentioned. 

"What  for?     Get  another  ship?" 

"  No,  sir  —  I  mean  —  I  got  a  girl  there." 

"  That  so  ?     Thought  you'd  be  going  home  for  Christmas." 

"  It's  going  to  be  home  for  me,"  he  returned. 

"Well,  I'll  show  you  —  get  a  time-table  at  the  hotel.  You 
see,  I  must  see  the  wife  first  thing." 

"But  why  me?"  quavered  Hannibal  fretfully.  "I  don't 
know  'er  as  well  as  you  do.  She's  always  been  on  'cr  own. 
It's  nothing  to  do  with  me,  anyway.     My  relations  never  done 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  445 

me  any  good.  I'm  going  my  own  road."  And  he  looked  som- 
brely out  of  the  streaming  windows  of  the  car. 

"  I  was  wondering  whether  you  had  quarrelled.  The  wife 
never  mentioning  you,  you  see,"  said  Captain  Briscoe. 

"We  ain't  quarrelled,"  he  insisted.  "We've  just  gone  our 
own  roads,  that's  all." 

He  could  not  explain  the  lack  of  sympathy  between  himself 
and  the  rest  of  his  family.  It  was  one  of  those  subtle  things 
that  are  always  overstated  in  words.  And  indeed,  how  could 
he,  the  untutored  young  man,  give  expression  to  the  distinction 
between  Minnie's  fastidiously  unconventional  mind  and  his  own 
simple  appreciation  of  life  and  love?  How  could  he  be  expected 
to  see  any  resemblance,  any  common  origin,  of  Minnie's  absence 
from  home  and  his  own  sudden  desire  to  get  to  sea?  He  felt 
oppressed  by  the  weight  of  the  problems  confronting  him.  It 
was  like  the  fog  in  the  river.     He  wanted  to  get  away  to  Nellie. 

A  sudden  exhilaration  came  to  him  as  he  thought  of  her.  She 
would  look  after  him.     With  her  he  would  be  safe. 

Captain  Briscoe  sat  watching  the  streets  as  they  went  on. 
Mason's  Hotel  was  temperance,  and  he  knew  where  it  was. 
Had  she  come  on  alone?  That  would  be  foolish.  Hotels  did 
not  like  solitary  women.  He  had  had  no  idea,  when  he  fore- 
cast a  probable  date  of  arrival,  that  she  would  come  to  him  so 
quickly.  Was  she  in  trouble?  His  lips  worked  under  his  beard 
as  he  tried  to  take  a  view  of  the  whole  question.  It  was  a  little 
big  for  him.  Out  on  the  ocean,  he  had  seen  it  as  a  frightful 
morass  in  which  lie  was  staggering,  lifting  a  foot  only  to  plunge 
it  afresh  in  the  downward-sucking  ooze,  while  above  his  soul  a 
dark  sky  hung,  thick  with  red  stars.  But  here  in  the  City  the 
problem  was  more  difficult,  though  less  terrifying.  As  he  pon- 
dered he  became  dimly  aware  that  the  solution  lay  in  his  wife's 
future  integrity  and  his  own  courage.  He  had  undertaken  a 
colossal  task  when  he  married  her.  He  saw  that  now.  He  saw 
that  the  walls  of  convention  are  low  within,  but  terribly  steep 
and  high  without.  Perhaps  that  was  why  it  was  so  easy  for  the 
folk  within  to  look  down  on  you. 

He  stood  up  quickly  and  beckoned  to  Hannibal.  They 
alighted  and  hurried  through  the  rain,  up  a  side  street. 

"  Here  you  are,"  he  said,  stopping  before  a  yellow  stuccoed 
front  witli  Mason's  Temperance  Hotel  in  thick  gilt  letters  across 
the  first  floor  wall. 


446  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

"  I'll  go  up  first,"  he  said  as  they  entered  the  narrow  hall- 
way. "You  understand?  It  will  be  better  if  I  go  up  first," 
and  he  went  forward  to  meet  the  thin  woman  in  black  who  was 
coming  down  the  stairs. 

"  Mrs.  Briscoe  ?  Come  this  way,  sir,  if  you  please."  Hanni- 
bal watched  them  round  the  curve  of  the  stairs.  A  faint  smell 
of  meat  cooking  came  to  him,  the  clink  of  cutlery  and  the 
murmur  of  voices.  On  the  wall  was  a  faded  oil-painting  of  a 
sailing-ship  in  a  dingy  gold  frame.  Some  one  had  poked  an 
umbrella  through  the  spanker.  How  dreary  it  was,  after  the 
splendour  of  the  East!  The  shiny  varnished  paper,  the  woven 
carpet,  the  monotonous  ticking  of  the  clock  in  the  sitting-room 
behind  him  brought  home  to  him  the  fact  that  the  life  of  England 
was  closing  round  him  once  more.  Well!  he  shifted  his  feet 
cautiously,  and  coughed.  When  he  got  to  Swansea  he  would  be 
all  right.  Nellie  was  waiting  for  him.  Perhaps  he  ought  to 
have  sent  a  telegram.  He  would  do  that  as  soon  as  he  could. 
What  was  going  on  up  there?  Why  did  they  not  send  for 
him? 

He  felt  curiously  ill  at  ease  at  the  prospect  of  meeting  Min- 
nie again.  He  had  grown  since  leaving  London,  his  knowledge 
of  the  world  had  spread  over  the  surface  of  his  mind,  until  it 
had  reached  his  sister.  And  she  was  the  Old  Man's  wife.  She 
was  to  be  spoken  of  as  Mrs.  Briscoe.  And  she  was  upstairs.  He 
heard  footsteps. 

"Hanny!" 

He  went  forward  blindly  to  meet  his  mother,  took  her  in  his 
arms  and  kissed  her  cheek. 

"  Well,  old  lady !     I  didn't  know  —  you  come  with  Minnie !  " 

"  Good  gracious  !  " 

She  pushed  him  back  a  little  to  look  at  him. 

"  You're  a  man !  "  she  said  solemnly,  and  touched  the  black 
hair  on  his  lip  —  his  own  gesture.     He  laughed. 

"  Sure  thing,  old  lady.     Here  I  am,  you  see." 

"  You'll  come  up  now  ?  " 

"  Is  she  up  there  ? "  He  raised  his  eyebrows  to  indicate 
upstairs. 

"  Yes,  of  course.     And  George  —  Captain  Briscoe  too." 

Mary  Gooderich  had  changed  once  again  since  we  saw  her 
last  in  that  house  in  Jubilee  Street.  She  would  have  said  per- 
haps that  she  scarcely  knew  herself,  for  this  time  the  change 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  447 

was  in  another  direction.  The  cringe  was  gone  from  her  gait, 
and  in  her  gestures  was  a  certain  freedom,  a  certain  air  of 
vague  authority.  And  she  called  the  Old  Man  George.  To 
Hannibal  it  was  a  revelation  of  his  mother.  It  is  certainly 
wonderful  how  adaptable  a  human  being,  especially  a  woman, 
is  to  environment.  When  you  have  left  Jubilee  Street  for  a 
flat  in  Tedworth  Square,  with  a  servant,  even  if  she  be  only 
a  little  one,  when  your  daughter  is  married  to  a  sea-captain  and 
travels  to  Liverpool  to  meet  him,  staying  at  hotels,  your  atti- 
tude towards  the  world  becomes  less  strained.  Your  regard 
for  the  Browns  may  even  become  humorously  indifferent. 

Like  many  people  of  limited  intellect,  Mrs.  Gooderich  had  been 
borne  down  by  facts.  Apparently  every  fact  she  encountered 
was  on  Minnie's  side,  the  fact  of  the  monthly  note  cashed  in 
Billiter  Lane,  the  fact  of  the  flat  with  its  furniture,  its  linen,  its 
gracious  labour-saving  contrivances,  its  capable  servant.  There 
was  the  undeniable  fact  too,  of  Minnie's  acquaintances.  Surely, 
if  her  daughter  were  a  bad  girl,  good  kind  ladies  like  Mrs. 
Wilfley  would  not  associate  with  her,  distinguished  men  like  Sir 
Anthony  Gilfillan,  m.p.,  would  not  exert  themselves  on  her  be- 
half, when  she  joined  that  foolish  petition  business  down  at 
Westminster?  And  behind  all  these  was  the  signed  bald  state- 
ment that  George  Briscoe,  master  mariner  and  bachelor,  was 
married  to  Wilhelmina  Gooderich,  spinster,  at  the  Town  Hall, 
King's  Road,  Chelsea.  The  sight  of  that  plain  sheet  of  paper 
had  recalled  the  past  with  a  painful  vividness.  She  remem- 
bered her  sudden  choice  of  the  name  Wilhelmina,  when  she  read 
of  the  queen-baby  across  the  Channel  —  a  foolish  piece  of  senti- 
ment that  her  husband  had  capped  by  naming  their  youngest 
after  a  horse.  Mr.  Gooderich  had  won  four  pounds  on  "  Han- 
nibal "  that  week  and  the  money  had  been  welcome.  She  could 
look  back  at  that  time  now  without  a  shudder.  Somehow,  in 
a  manner  so  complex  she  could  not  follow  it,  she  had  emerged; 
her  dream  of  an  old  age  unspoiled  by  care  was  come  partly  true. 
She  avoided  the  dark  thoughts  of  her  life  and  held  firmly  to 
the  facts.  It  was  a  great  comfort  to  have  really  good  clothes 
to  wear. 

Hannibal  followed  her  upstairs.  Perhaps  it  was  as  well  he 
had  come.  After  all,  he  had  no  quarrel  with  any  one.  He 
blushed  as  he  thought  how  he  had  hugged  his  mother.  He  had 
gone  not  for  to  do  it.     He  had  never  done  it  before.     Fancy ! 


448  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

Mrs.  Gooderich  led  the  way  along  the  dark  corridor  to  a 
room  with  a  ground  glass  door  at  the  end. 

Captain  Briscoe  was  standing  by  the  fire  looking  down  at 
his  wife.     He  turned  as  mother  and  son  came  into  the  room. 

"  Here  he  is,"  said  Mrs.  Gooderich.  "  Take  your  coat  off, 
Hanny.     It's  all  wet." 

He  hung  his  cap  on  a  peg  by  the  door,  and  shouldered  him- 
self out  of  his  coat.  As  he  fumbled  for  the  loop  he  heard  a 
voice  say  as  though  amused: 

"  Why,  is  that  Hanny  ?     Good  heavens  !  " 

He  turned  with  a  certain  aggression  in  his  manner,  which 
was  defeated  by  a  short  fit  of  coughing.  And  then  he  saw  his 
sister  sitting  by  the  fire,  a  rug  thrown  over  her  and  tucked  under 
her  arms.  Her  face  was  pale,  as  always,  and  her  hands  lay 
with  fingers  loosely  interlaced  on  the  dark  fabric  of  the  rug. 
She  smiled  as  her  brother  came  up  to  her.  How  disconcerting 
she  was!  Captain  Briscoe  looked  at  Hannibal's  doubtful  face 
with  a  certain  sympathy.  He  too  had  been  taken  back  by  the 
smiling  figure  in  the  chair.  He,  like  Hannibal,  had  braced  him- 
self for  a  definite  situation,  and  she  had  scored  again  in  her 
inimitable  way.  You  cannot  be  aggressive  with  a  woman  hud- 
dled in  a  rug.     Try  it. 

She  held  up  her  hand,  still  smiling. 

"  Well,  Hanny,"  she  said  kindly,  "  did  they  put  you  on  the 
fires?  You  look  as  though  you  had  been  put  somewhere.  Look 
at  him,  mother.     He's  thin  as  an  umbrella." 

He  stood  by  her  chair,  looking  down  at  her,  smiling  awk- 
wardly. Young  men  dislike  public  references  to  their  personal 
appearance.     Mrs.  Gooderich  looked  at  him  solicitously. 

"  He  is  thin.     I  suppose  it  was  that  illness." 

"  He  had  a  touch  of  fever,"  said  Captain  Briscoe.  "  I  looked 
after  him." 

"And  how  do  you  like  it?  "  said  Minnie. 

Hannibal,  as  he  answered,  was  conscious  of  a  feeling  of  amaze- 
ment at  her  kindly  peremptory  tone.  She  spoke  like  a  lady  of 
position.  He  was  sure  she  would  patronise  Mrs.  Hopkins. 
There  might  be  sparks  flying,  wigs  on  the  green,  no  doubt;  but 
that  would  be  her  attitude. 

"  I  like  it  all  right,"  he  said  quietly.  "  But  I'm  for  the  beach 
for  a  while  now." 

"  For  what?     Talk  English,  Hanny." 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  449 

N  I  mean,"  he  said,  "  I'm  going  to  stay  ashore  a  bit." 

"  I  see.  I  suppose  you'll  be  coming  to  town  to  stay  with  us  ?  " 
There  was  a  faint  sarcasm  in  the  tone  and  he  caught  it. 

"  No,  I  ain't,"  he  returned.  "  I'm  going  to  Swansea  to  get 
married." 

For  a  moment  she  studied  his  thin  features  as  the  firelight 
played  upon  them,  his  solemn  brown  eyes  gazing  into  the  glow- 
ing coals.  It  was  a  facer  for  her,  for  all  of  them.  How  could 
he  have  been  so  secretive?  Mrs.  Gooderich  could  hardly  believe 
her  ears.  After  throwing  over  Amelia,  here  he  was  after  all  — 
but  Swansea !  For  a  moment  no  one  spoke,  and  he  stood  motion- 
less, unconscious  of  the  mild  sensation  he  had  caused.  Minnie 
pursed  her  lips  slightly. 

*  You !  "  she  said  at  length. 

"  That's  right,"  he  replied  evenly.     "  What  of  it?  " 

"  Who  is  it,  Hanny  ?  "  asked  his  mother  anxiously. 

"  Girl  in  Swansea,"  he  said.  "  We  got  engaged  when  I  was 
there." 

He  was  master  of  himself  now,  realising  the  tremendous  ad- 
vantage he  had  over  his  sister.  She  couldn't  get  past  that,  mar- 
ried a*s  she  was.  He  caught  her  eye  for  a  fleeting  moment  and 
saw  it  flicker  involuntarily. 

"And  you  won't  be  coming  to  London?"  said  his  mother. 

"  Perhaps,  later  on,"  he  replied.  "I  —  I  want  a  time-table," 
he  added,  looking  at  one  that  hung  on  the  wall. 

"  Well,"  said  Captain  Briscoe,  handing  it  to  him,  "  you  don't 
seem  very  anxious  to  tell  us  much  about  it." 

"  There  ain't  much  to  tell,"  he  returned  simply.  "  There's 
no  need  to  worry  about  me,"  he  coughed.     "  I'm  all  right." 

"  You've  got  a  cold,"  said  his  mother. 

"  log,"  he  croaked,  turning  the  leaves  of  the  time-table. 
"  I'll  be  all  right  soon."  He  looked  round  for  a  chair  to  sit 
down.  "  Here's  one  to  Cardiff,"  he  said  without  looking  up. 
94  Two-twenty.  That'll  do  me.""  And  he  shut  the  book  and  laid 
it  on  the  table.     For  a  moment  he  stared  at  the  fire. 

"  I  thought,"  said  his  mother,  a  little  uncertainly,  "  you'd 
be  coming  to  London  for  Christmas."  And  she  looked  at  her 
daughter,  who  gave  no  sign  that  she  had  heard. 

"  She'll  be  waiting,"  he  replied,  and  stood  up.  Suddenly  he 
looked  at  his  sister.     "  What's  the  matter?  "  he  demanded. 

Minnie  looked  down  at  her  hands.     Mrs.  Gooderich  fidgetted, 


450  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

Captain  Briscoe  smiled.  Hannibal  glanced  from  face  to  face, 
and  his  own  cleared. 

"  Oh,"  he  said.  "  Well,  I'll  'ave  to  get  down  to  the  ship  for 
my  dunnage.     I'll  'ave  to  say  Toodle-oo." 

Minnie  held  out  her  hand,  but  made  no  offer  to  kiss  him. 

"  Good-bye,  Hanny,"  she  said.  "  Come  and  see  us  some  time, 
when  you  are  a  married  man." 

"  I  dare  say,"  he  answered.  "  Good-bye,  sir."  He  checked 
himself  and  laughed.  "  I'd  never  get  out  of  the  'abit,"  he 
said. 

"  It's  a  good  fault,"  said  Captain  Briscoe.  "  Minnie,  my  dear, 
I've  just  this  to  say  for  this  young  chap.  He's  done  his  work, 
and  kept  his  place,  and  I've  had  no  fault  to  find  whatever.  I 
wish  him  luck.  Pity  there  isn't  more  like  him."  And  he  shook 
hands.     "  Good-bye,  young  man,"  he  said. 

Mrs.  Gooderich  went  to  the  door  to  go  downstairs  with  her 
son,  helping  him  into  his  coat.  He  turned  at  the  door,  cap  in 
hand. 

"  I'm  glad,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice,  "  glad  it's  turned  out 
better  than  you  thought.     Good-bye."     And  he  left  them. 

"  Hanny,"  said  his  mother,  when  they  reached  the  dreary 
passage  again.     "What's  her  name,  dear?     I'm  so  glad!" 

"Nellie,  mother,  Nellie  Ffitt.  "I'd  like" — he  paused  and 
looked  round — "  I'd  like  you  to  see  'er  some  day,  when  we  get 
spliced." 

"  And  are  you  going  on  the  ship  again?  " 

"  I  couldn't  say.     I  may.     I'll  write  to  you,  old  lady." 

"Do,  dear.     Isn't  it  rainin'?" 

"Ah,  rotten  weather,"  he  coughed  again.  "  I'm  breaking  up," 
he  joked.  "  Good-bye."  He  kissed  her  again  with  his  arm 
around  her.     "  You  all  right  —  with  Minnie  ?  " 

"  Oh  yes,  we're  very  comfortable.     Now  mind  you  write." 

"  Sure." 

And  he  was  gone. 

Mrs.  Gooderich  went  slowly  upstairs,  a  finger  pressed  into 
her  cheek.  She  felt  a  pang,  no  doubt,  at  the  young  man's  curt 
dismissal  of  them  and  their  interests.  She  could  not  help  shar- 
ing her  daughter's  temporary  dismay  when  he  dumbfounded 
them  by  the  announcement  of  his  departure  for  Swansea,  for 
she  had  gone  over  to  Minnie,  she  feared,  irrevocably.  There 
were  the   facts.     Here  was   Captain  Briscoe  himself,  an  irre- 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  451 

fragable  if  baffling  fact,  talking  about  living  in  the  country.     She 
re-entered  the  room. 

"  I  was  saying,"  said  he,  setting  a  chair  and  hanging  up  the 
time-table,  "  that  it  was  always  a  hope  with  me  to  live  in  the 
country." 

"  And  I  was  saying,  mother,"  cut  in  Minnie  placidly,  "  that 
George  doesn't  seem  to  realise  that  it's  us  who  have  to  live  in 
the  country,  not  him.  You'll  be  away  all  the  time,"  she  said  to 
him.  "  You  won't  have  the  trouble  with  leaky  roofs  and  broken 
windows.  And  do  you  think  the  girl  will  live  in  the  country? 
Not  likely.     You  ask  her!" 

"Well,  Minnie,  you  can  get  a  girl  who  belongs,  can't  you?" 
Captain  Briscoe  was  not  impressive  away  from  his  ship. 

"  There's  another  thing,"  Minnie  went  on,  spreading  her 
hands  on  the  rug  and  examining  the  nails.  "  I  want  to  take 
up  my  work  again  when  this  business  is  over."  She  indicated 
her  condition  with  a  faint  gesture.  "  It's  awfully  fascinating," 
she  added,  looking  up  at  him. 

"  Writing  advertisements  ? "  he  muttered,  and  she  nodded. 
He  was  quite  surprised  at  this  extraordinary  development  of  his 
wife's  character.  Think  of  it!  It  had  never  entered  his  head 
that  advertisements  were  written,  and  here  was  his  own  wife 
calling  it  fascinating,  giving  him  perfectly  incredible  particulars 
of  the  money  to  be  earned  by  it.  Mrs.  Wilfley  made  her  twenty 
pounds  a  week  out  of  it.  And  it  was  refined,  lady-like  work 
too,  a  branch  of  literature,  you  might  say. 

"  Writing    advertisements  ? "    he    muttered,    and    she    nodded. 

"  Couldn't  you  do  that  in  the  country  ?  "  he  asked.  She  shook 
her  head  with  a  smile. 

"  One  has  to  be  in  the  heart  of  things  to  get  the  human 
touch,"  she  replied,  and  I  defy  any  one  to  have  told  whether 
Minnie  was  quoting  unconsciously,  quoting  sincerely,  or  quoting 
ironically.     Her  placid  face  told  nothing. 

"  George,"  said  Mrs.  Gooderich  —  here  was  another  phenom- 
enal thing,  this  diminutive,  neatly-dressed  mother-in-law  address- 
ing him  as  George  — "  you're  exciting  her.  She's  tired  by  the 
long  railway  journey." 

Minnie  said  "Rubbish!"  but  Captain  Briscoe  sprang  to  his 
feet  and  looked  at  his  watch. 

"  I  must  go  down  to  the  ship,"  he  said.  "  I  want  to  see  the 
Mate   and   Chief   about   dry-docking.     I'll   be   back   soon.     I'm 


452  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

sorry  you  won't  be  able  to  come  down  and  see  the  ship  this  time. 
She's  in  fine  trim." 

"  Is  she  ?  "  she  answered  indifferently.  "  Is  that  anything 
extraordinary?  You  might  bring  me  the  Morning  Post  as  you 
come  back.     It  wasn't  in  when  mother  went  for  it  this  morning." 

"  Yes,  all  right.     I'll  bring  it.     I  shan't  be  long." 

He  put  on  his  coat  and  hurried  out.  He  was  particularly 
anxious  to  see  the  Mate  at  once.  Mr.  Hutchins  was  keen  on 
promotion.     Some  one  might  come  down  to  the  ship. 

"  I  wonder,"  said  Minnie  as  her  mother  took  up  a  piece  of  linen 
which  she  was  sewing,  "  I  wonder  if  he  will  remember  to  get  it." 

"  You  forgot  to  ask  him  about  the  name,"  said  Mrs.  Goode- 
rich. 

"  Did  I  ?  No,  I  don't  think  I  forgot,  mother.  When  he 
came  in  I  got  an  idea  it  would  be  better  to  leave  it." 

"  It  would  be  nice  if  you  called  him  Hanny,"  began  Mrs. 
Gooderich,  smiling  and  biting  her  thread. 

"  I  would  call  him  anything  in  the  world  but  Hanny !  "  said 
Minnie,  with  a  touch  of  viciousness  in  her  voice.  "  How  can 
one  tell  if  it  will  be  a  boy?  I  hope  so,  of  course.  I  don't  want 
a  girl.     If  it  is  a  boy — .well,  I've  another  idea." 

"  You  have  so  many,  Minnie  —  I  can't  keep  up  with  you." 

"  I  shall  ask  Anthony  Gilfillan  to  be  his  godfather,"  said 
Minnie. 

"  That  gentleman !     Do  you  know  him  well  enough  ?  " 

"  I  think  so,"  replied  her  daughter.  "  I  saw  a  lot  of  him  at 
one  time,  when  he  wasn't  so  well  known.  And  Anthony's  a  good 
enough  name,  mother." 

"  But  George  might "  began  Mrs.  Gooderich. 

"  George  has  enough  to  bother  about  without  that,"  inter- 
rupted Minnie.  "  You  didn't  hear,  though  —  you  were  down- 
stairs. He's  in  some  trouble  or  other  about  his  ship  now.  '  Put 
her  aground,'  he  calls  it,  and  there's  to  be  an  enquiry.  He  talks 
of  losing  his  command."  For  a  few  moments  she  gazed  into  the 
fire,  a  contemptuous  expression  on  her  face,  her  hands  moving 
under  the  rug.  "  I  should  have  thought,"  she  broke  out,  "  that 
the  sea  was  big  enough.  And  he's  been  at  it  long  enough.  It'll 
be  a  nice  thing  if  he  can't  get  another  job  and  I  have  to  earn 
money  for  two  —  three  —  four.     Eh  ?  " 

Her  mother  looked  at  her  in  astonishment.  Minnie's  face  was 
no  longer  merely  contemptuous,  it  was  triumphant.     To  the  elder 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  453 

woman's  consternation  she  withdrew  her  hand  from  the  rug  and 
showed  a  gleaming  blue-black  revolver. 

"  Oh !  "  said  Mrs.  Gooderich,  and  recoiled. 

"  He  gave  me  this,"  said  Minnie,  regarding  it  with  some 
amusement,  "  to  keep.  He  dare  not  trust  himself  until  he  has 
heard  what  they  are  going  to  do.     Fancy !  " 

For  some  time  there  was  a  silence.  Slowly  the  girl  hid  the 
thing  under  the  rug  again,  staring  into  the  fire. 

"  Mother !  "  she  rapped  at  length,  and  her  mother  started. 

"Yes,  Minnie?" 

"Mother,  I  was  just  thinking.  What  fools  men  are!  What 
utter  fools!  But,  oh  mother,  dear  mother,  what  fools  we  are, 
not  to  find  it  out  —  sooner !  " 


XXIV 

IT  was  to  him  a  physically  fatiguing  journey,  for  he  was 
but  little  accustomed  to  trains.  To  the  seafarer,  the 
monotonous  confinement,  the  crepitating  vibration  of  the 
wheels  at  unknown  and  unfriendly  junctions,  the  noxious 
yet  draughty  atmosphere  and  the  never-ending  readjustment  of 
the  body  to  a  fresh  cramp,  make  up  a  familiar  and  dreaded 
memory.  To  him,  moreover,  with  his  body  shaken  by  weakness, 
it  followed  upon  a  sleepless  night  and  a  morning  of  variegated 
mental  excitement.  As  he  changed  for  the  last  time,  and  after 
a  weary  wait,  into  the  local  train  at  Cardiff,  he  wondered  if  it 
wouldn't  have  been  easier,  and  almost  quicker,  to  have  gone 
round  by  sea.  Tommy  had  told  him  how  he  had  travelled 
from  Glasgow  to  Liverpool  and  from  Leith  to  London  in 
coasters.  Very  cheap,  Tommy  pronounced  it,  and  cheapness 
with  Tommy  was  a  cardinal  virtue.  Funny  little  chap,  Hanni- 
bal thought  dreamily,  as  the  locomotive  bunted  into  the  train 
with  a  crash.  He  was  clever  too.  Look  how  he  signalled  in 
German  to  that  ship  in  the  Mediterranean,  just  after  leaving 
Malta !  No  doubt  about  him  getting  on.  And,  why,  if  it  hadn't 
been  for  him,  there  would  have  been  no  Nellie!     Just  think! 

He  thought  affectionately  of  every  one  on  the  ship.  Strange, 
surely,  they  should  be  all  flung  apart  now.  He  wondered  if  he 
would  ever  see  any  of  them  again.  There  was  Spink,  the  hilar- 
ious Spink,  gone  to  Shields  to  get  his  ticket.  Not  a  bad  young 
chap.  Hannibal  remembered  little  gifts  of  soap  and  matches, 
old  magazines  and  plugs  of  tobacco  —  the  Spartan  luxuries  of 
the  sea.  The  Third  too!  He  was  a  cough  drop,  he  was!  No 
soap  and  matches  from  him;  he  never  had  any  of  his  own.  For 
the  Second,  Hannibal  had  a  species  of  awe.  He  had  the  wit 
to  see  how  completely  the  smooth  running  of  all  the  complex 
mechanism  of  "  below "  depended  upon  that  taciturn,  tireless 
man's  labour  and  care.  True,  behind  him  was  another  yet  more 
taciturn,  but  it  was  not  likely  that  Hannibal  should  see  how 
essential  to  the  Second's  peace  of  mind  was  the  silent,  invisible 
integrity  of  the  Chief.     A  good  fellow,  Mr.  Hopkins.     He  would 

454 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  455 

like  to  have  seen  Mrs.  Hopkins  again.  She  understood  him. 
Well,  perhaps  he  would;  Penarth  was  close  here,  somewhere. 

And  that  led  him  back  to  Nellie.  Would  she  be  at  the  sta- 
tion? He  had  accomplished  the  unprecedented  feat  of  sending 
a  telegram  to  tell  her  he  would  arrive  at  five  minutes  to  eight. 
The  mere  thought  of  her  gave  him  a  warm  glow.  Somehow  he 
felt  no  alarm  now  at  the  prospect  of  settling  down.  He  was 
tired  of  roaming.  To  his  youthful  imagination,  so  long  turned 
inward,  so  recently  stimulated,  it  seemed  to  him  he  had  lived 
through  a  whole  lifetime  of  vivid  experience  since  Captain  Bris- 
coe had  entered  the  shop  that  day  to  buy  some  tobacco.  That 
day!  The  day  of  his  emancipation.  As  he  leaned  back  in  the 
corner  with  closed  eyes  he  searched  his  mind  in  vain  for  any 
regret  at  leaving  Amelia.  And  then  a  thrill  of  pleasure  fol- 
lowed. His  mother  was  clear  of  those  Browns  too.  He  had 
been  on  the  defensive  with  Minnie,  but  he  was  glad  indeed  that 
his  mother  was  shut  o'  those  Browns.  Of  course,  she  was  under 
Minnie's  thumb,  as  was  Captain  Briscoe.  Fancy!  The  Old 
Man  under  Minnie's  thumb!  He  found  himself  pitying  him. 
But  then,  and  he  looked  at  the  matter  from  a  personal  point  of 
view,  perhaps  the  Old  Man  liked  to  be  under  her  thumb,  if  he 
loved  her,  same  as  he,  Hannibal,  turned  instinctively  to  Nellie 
for  strength.  That  might  be  it.  Anyway,  it  was  no  business  of 
his.  And  he  thought  with  a  lazy,  delightful  satisfaction  of  the 
thirty  pounds  waiting  for  him  in  Swansea.  .  .  .  Quite  a  fortune ! 

He  was  nearly  asleep  as  the  train  picked  its  slow  way  round 
from  Landore  into  the  town  that  lies  behind  those  huge  bul- 
warks of  coal-streaked  rock,  yet  open  to  the  western  rain-laden 
winds,  open  to  her  friend  the  sea.  The  lights  of  the  approach, 
the  clatter  of  the  wheels  over  switches,  roused  him.  As  he  but- 
toned his  coat  up  closely  he  looked  out  of  the  window.  The  train 
glided  into  the  station  and  he  was  conscious  of  a  pause  within 
himself,  a  momentary  doubt.  It  occurred  to  him  that,  so  astound- 
ing had  been  his  life  recently,  it  would  not  be  surprising  if  the 
whole  thing  turned  out  to  be  a  dream.  He  often  had  this  obses- 
sion, this  slack  grasp  on  reality.  As  he  stood  up  in  the  dark- 
ness of  the  dimly-lit  carriage  it  came  upon  him.  What  was  it 
all,  this  curiously-coloured,  inconsequent  thing  called  life?  How 
did  you  account  for  all  these  contorted  shining  images  in  his 
brain  —  the  East  —  ship  —  fog  —  Minnie  —  thirty  pounds  — 
Little  Brown  Box  —  railway  train  —  bump !     The  door  flew  open 


456  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

at  the  touch  of  a  porter's  hand,  and  he  stepped  carefully  upon 
the  platform,  feeling  dizzy  and  stiff.  And  then,  in  the  midst 
of  strange,  half-seen  figures  he  singled  her  out  coming  towards 
him,  waving  hastily,  gladly. 

He  saw  her  expression  change  as  though  she  were  half  afraid 
of  his  welcome,  her  full,  pink,  pretty  face  set  in  a  frame  of  dark 
fur.  They  met,  really,  almost  in  absence  of  mind.  He  was 
thinking,  "  I  saw  her  here  first  of  all !  "  and  she  was  thinking, 
"  He's  got  a  moustache !  " 

"  I'm  back,"  he  said,  laughing  sheepishly,  as  he  took  her  hand. 
"Nellie!" 

For  a  moment  she  was  silent,  merely  nodding  and  smiling  as 
she  looked  him  over.  His  big  brown  eyes  roved  over  the  sta- 
tion, came  back  to  hers,  and  he  laughed  again.  She  came  to  her- 
self. 

"Goodness!  you  do  look  ill!  I  got  your  telegram,  just  as  I 
was  having  a  cup  of  tea.  My  sister-in-law's  living  with  me  now, 
and  we  always  have  tea  at  three.  So  you  have  come  back! 
Where's  your  things  —  in  the  van  ?  No,  this  end  always,  with 
Cardiff  trains." 

They  turned  as  his  canvas  bag,  corpulent  with  bedding,  shot 
upon  the  platform. 

"  There  it  is,"  he  said.  "  I'll  go  and  get  it."  She  caught  his 
sleeve. 

"  Let  the  porter  fetch  it.  I'll  tell  him."  She  told  him,  and 
they  went  out  to  the  street.  There  she  paused  in  her  prattle, 
looking  searchingly  into  his  face.     He  coughed. 

M  You  mustn't  get  cold,"  she  announced,  and  walked  towards 
a  cab.  Like  a  man  still  in  a  dream,  he  got  in,  heard  her  say, 
"•  Stormy  Petrel,"  felt  her  sitting  beside  him,  inhaled  the  scent 
of  her  clothes. 

"  Blow  the  expense ! "  he  laughed.  She  turned  on  him,  her 
face  glowing.  -• 

"  Didn't  you  get  my  letters  in  Malta  ?  "  she  demanded. 

"  One,"  he  said. 

"  I  sent  another  three  days  after.  Old  Snickery  fell  down 
the  cellar  and  broke  his  neck !  " 

"  Lummy ! " 

"  So  you  see,  but  perhaps  you  don't "  she  began. 

"See  what,  Nellie?" 

"  Why,  I  had  the  license,  that's  all."     And  she  took  her  lower 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  457 

lip  in  her  teeth  and  smiled  into  his  eyes.     She  saw  he  did  not 
understand. 

"  The  '  Stormy  Petrel '  is  mine  now,"  she  added. 

"  Yours!  "  he  croaked.     "  For  good?  " 

"  Just  that  and  nothing  else.  They  went  to  law  about  it, 
old  Snickery's  nephews  and  nieces,  but  they  lost." 

"  And  you're  —  the  landlady  ?  " 

She  nodded. 

"  And  you  come  to  meet  me,  and  take  a  cab  ?  "  he  faltered. 

She  nodded  again,  smiling. 

"Why  not,  Hanny?     I'm  no  different,  am  I,  from  before?" 

"  The  landlady !  "  he  reflected,  as  though  afraid.  "  Why,"  he 
broke  out,  "  you've  got  property,  then." 

"  That's  what  I'm  telling  you,"  she  answered  with  gentle  im- 
patience. "  It  isn't  a  crime  to  have  property,  is  it?  You  aren't 
one  of  those  socialists  ?  " 

"  Me?  No,  I  ain't  anything,  only  a  chap  who's  been  to  sea. 
D'you  mean  to  say,"  he  went  on,  "we're  still  engaged?     You 

with  property  an'   me   with  —  with "     And   he   stopped   as 

the  cab  halted  at  the  kerb. 

"  Come  on,"  she  said.  "  May's  waiting  to  see  you.  Come 
on ! " 

He  glanced  up  at  the  house  before  entering  it.  The  door  of 
the  bar  was  swinging  even  as  he  looked.  Electric  lights  inside 
showed  a  glittering  array  of  bottles,  polished  wood  casks,  nickel- 
plated  ware,  glasses  in  rows,  all  festooned  with  holly  and  red 
berries.  He  followed  her  into  the  hall-way  upstairs  and  into 
a  room  over  the  bar,  a  room  with  a  big  fire  and  a  table  spread 
for  supper. 

"  Here  he  is,  May,"  he  heard  Miss  Ffitt  say,  and  saw  a  lady 
turn  from  a  glass  where  she  had  been  touching  her  hair. 

"Mrs.  Lloyd  —  Mr.  Gooderich,"  said  Miss  Ffitt,  introducing 
them.  "  I  just  got  to  the  station  in  time,  dear.  He  didn't  get 
my  letter  about  —  you  know.     I've  just  been  telling  him." 

Mrs.  Lloyd  was  a  lady  with  a  certain  gentility  that  did  not 
preclude  good  nature.  She  smiled  and  shook  hands  heartily, 
and  seemed  disposed  to  leave  the  talking  to  Miss  Ffitt. 

I've  heard  of  you,"  she  said  graciously,  and  busied  herself 
with  the  table. 

"  I  don't  understand  now,"  said  Hannibal,  sitting  down  after 
removing  his  coat.     "  It's  like  a  fairy  tale." 


458  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

"  That's  all  it  would  have  been  if  I  hadn't  stuck  to  my 
rights.  Now  I'll  just  run  down  and  see  how  things  are  going 
on.  I  won't  be  a  minute.'*  And  going  out  she  gave  him  a  pat 
on  his  shoulder. 

"  Fancy !  "  he  muttered,  looking  at  the  fire.  He  heard  Mrs. 
Lloyd  ask  him  if  he  had  had  a  good  voyage,  heard  himself 
answer  politely,  but  he  was  far  away  in  dreamland  all  the  time. 
Surely,  he  thought,  it  would  all  vanish,  and  he  would  find  him- 
self on  the  soap-box  in  the  forecastle,  looking  up  at  Angelatos' 
big  feet  or  listening  to  Jan's  commentary  upon  life.  He  strove 
to  figure  himself  as  a  man  of  property.  He  remembered  the 
awe  in  which  Amelia  spoke  of  such  people.  He  wondered  what 
they  would  think.  Lummy!  He  would  be  able  to  talk  to 
them  now!  He  would  be  able  to  snap  his  fingers  at  Uncle 
George  and  all  the  rest  of  'em.  Buy  up  the  Little  Brown 
Box,  eh?  Not  that  he  wanted  it.  Swansea  was  good  enough  for 
him! 

But  was  it  true?  A  troubled  look  crept  over  his  face.  Had 
he  the  nerve  to  ask  her  to  marry  him  now  she  was  in  such  a 
different  position?  Why,  there  must  be  scores  after  her,  men 
of  property,  perhaps.  Why  should  she  take  to  him  so?  And 
he  remembered  that,  in  a  way,  women  did  take  to  him.  Amelia 
had  done  so,  as  had  Mrs.  Hopkins.  Was  it  possible  that  there 
was  something  about  him  he  didn't  know  what? 

Miss  Ffitt  came  back.  In  her  plain  black  dress  that  fitted  her 
figure  and  made  her  seem  slim,  she  was  the  image  of  a  capable 
landlady  —  not  too  old.  Indeed,  the  black  dress,  contrasting  her 
pink  face  and  light  brown  hair,  made  her  look  younger  and  less 
blowzy  than  her  favourite  pink  would  have  done. 

"  Now  we'll  have  supper,"  she  announced,  smiling.  "  And 
you'll  tell  us  all  about  your  travels." 

"  No  fear,"  he  said.  "  You've  got  to  tell  me  all  about  this 
business  of  the  house.  I  can't  believe  it.  'Course  I  believe  you," 
he  added,  as  he  drew  up  his  chair.  "  But  what  I  mean  it,  it's 
so  unexpected  like." 

"  Of  course  it  is,  dear,  but  we  can  get  used  to  anything  if  we 
try,  even  a  bit  of  good  luck.  The  great  thing  is  to  see  it  when  it 
comes  and  take  your  chance.  I  wasn't  thinking  of  anything  like 
this  happening  when  I  first  took  over  the  license.  It  was  simply 
a  matter  of  business,  me  taking  out  the  license  and  acting  as 
Mr.   Snickery's   manager.     Why,   do  you  know,  even  when  he 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  459 

was  dead  I  went  to  a  lawyer,  Mr.  Leese,  who  said  I  had  what 
he  called  a  technical  right  to  the  place.  'What's  that?  '  I  said. 
And  he  said  it  might  need  a  lawsuit  to  substantiate  the  claim, 
and  he  would  take  it  up  for  me  if  I  liked.  I  hadn't  anything 
to  lose,  you  see,  so  I  told  him  to  do  it.  Did  it  very  well,  too, 
and  only  charged  a  hundred  pounds  altogether.  Wasn't  I  glad 
I  hadn't  given  it  up  as  they  asked  me  to  the  day  after  the  old 
chap  was  buried  ?  " 

"  What  I  said  was,"  said  Mrs.  Lloyd,  "  that  Nellie  having 
really  made  the  business  what  it  is,  she  had  a  moral  right  to  it, 
anyway.     Don't  you  think  so  ?  " 

"And  then,"  broke  in  Miss  Ffitt,  "what  do  you  think? 
Those  nephews  of  his  tried  to  take  my  character  away.  Began 
to  tell  people  I'd  been  their  uncle's  kept  woman,  and  I'd  wheedled 
it  out  of  him.  Mr.  Leese  wanted  me  to  let  him  take  that  up. 
He  said  he'd  get  five  hundred  out  of  them  for  defamation  of 
character.  But  I  didn't  want  to  do  that.  I  let  him  write  to 
them  and  threaten  proceedings  if  they  didn't  apologise,  as  he 
had  six  witnesses.  They  did  too,  so  that's  over.  Kept  woman 
indeed!  I'd  be  hard  up  for  a  new  dress,  I  can  tell  you,  before 
I  had  anything  to  do  with  a  poor  rickety  old  boozer  like 
Snickery !  " 

"  What  a  lot's  been  happening  while  I'  been  away,"  said 
Hannibal. 

"  I  should  think  so !  Let's  see,  it's  eight  months  nearly, 
though  I  thought,  after  you  wrote  from  Japan,  you'd  been  lost, 
it  was  such  a  long  time  before  another  letter  came." 

"  I  was  bad,"  he  returned,  passing  his  plate  for  more  ham. 
"  And  we  were  ashore  on  a  coral  reef.  I  woke  up  and  found  the 
ship  all  on  one  side." 

"  Fancy !     Do  tell  us  all  about  it." 

He  told  them,  growing  descriptive  as  he  warmed  to  his  sub- 
ject. Perhaps  he  drew  his  own  figure  a  little  large  in  the  pic- 
ture, perhaps  the  unaccustomed  stimulus  of  an  attentive  and 
easily  astonished  feminine  audience  led  him  to  paint  the  dangers 
of  sea  life  somewhat  luridly.  It  is  a  very  easy  sin  to  commit, 
for  though  most  women  are  too  shrewd  and  too  practical  to 
believe  the  preposterous  for  long,  yet  they  do  actually  believe 
anything  at  the  time  of  the  telling,  and  make  you  feel  they 
believe  it  too,  which  is  very  charming  and  delightful,  when  you 
are  young  and  just  off  a  ship. 


460  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

"  And  what  are  you  going  to  do  now  ?  "  enquired  Mrs.  Lloyd, 
as  they  pushed  their  chairs  back  from  the  table. 

"  Me?  I'm  going  to  ask  a  young  lady  I  know  if  she's  thinking 
o*  getting  married,"  he  replied,  a  fine  courage  in  his  brown  eye. 
"  You  see,"  he  added  as  he  put  his  arm  round  Nellie's  waist, 
"  I'm  like  Nellie  with  the  lawyer.  I  didn't  reckon  what  I  was 
in  for.  But  the  great  thing  is  to  see  good  luck  when  it  comes, 
eh?     And  you  don't  get  much  —  if  you  don't  ask." 


XXV 

NOT  for  many  months  did  he  arrive  at  any  sort  of 
ordered  comprehension  of  the  things  that  had  befallen 
him.  Indeed,  I  fancy  that  just  as  he  had  passed  his 
childhood  in  fantastic  dreaming,  as  he  had  roamed 
with  East-End  gamins  without  much  contamination  of  soul,  as 
he  had  gone  among  the  brisk  and  successful  Browns  without 
understanding  their  clear  and  immediate  view  of  things,  as  he 
had  voyaged  across  the  world  and  seen  life  touched  at  the  edge 
with  the  prismatic  colours  of  romance,  so  now  he  did,  with  that 
slow-fusing  imagination  of  his,  transmute  the  daily  happenings 
of  his  present  existence  into  a  delightful  and  —  alas !  —  incom- 
municable dream.  Even  at  the  end,  which  was  near,  he  found 
yet  another  matter  for  supreme  wonder,  another  confirmation  of 
a  previous  discovery  that  the  essential  spirit  of  life  is  indestruc- 
tible and  divine. 

One  minor  cause  for  astonishment  awaited  him,  as  soon  as  the 
excitement  of  marriage  was  done  with  and  he  could  give  co- 
herent utterance  to  irrelevant  and  profane  thoughts,  and  that 
was  the  way  in  which  money  made  money.  Especially,  he  ex- 
plained, in  his  own  case.  He  could  hardly  understand  how  any 
one  could  be  induced  to  go  out  and  work,  when  money  made  itself 
so  easy.  Why,  he  observed,  it  was  as  easy  to  be  a  publican  as  to 
be  a  sinner,  and  the  unexpected  pithiness  of  the  remark,  its 
acceptance  by  one  or  two  who  heard  it  as  genuine  humour,  induced 
him  to  say  it  often.  "  At  least,"  he  would  add,  "  that's  what 
I  tell  the  wife,  but  she  won't  have  it  at  all." 

It  was  not  to  be  expected.  Doubtless  a  consciousness  of  his 
dependence  on  her  capacity  came  to  him  in  time,  for  it  was 
plain  to  the  meanest  mind  that  hers  was  the  directing  genius  of 
the  establishment.  She  it  was  who  made  a  snap-offer  for  the 
goodwill  of  the  restaurant  next  door,  who  shut  it  up,  gutted 
the  "  Stormy  Petrel's  "  jug  department,  cut  a  way  through  from 
the  private  bar,  abolished  a  dark  back  room  and  transformed  it 
all  into  a  tasteful  grill-room.  She  it  was,  too,  who  went  through 
the  lists,  wrote  complaints  to  distillers  and  kept  the  mineral 

461 


462  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

water  dealers  in  terror  of  their  lives.  It  was  her  business,  it 
came  natural  to  her  to  tend  the  details  of  a  tavern.  And  more- 
over he  was  satisfied  that  it  should  be  so.  From  time  to  time 
he  asked  questions,  sat  watching  the  smooth  running  of  the 
mechanism  of  the  house.  He  was  happy  in  his  way,  he  told  her, 
and  she  in  hers.  He  wasn't  going  to  be  such  a  fool  as  to  inter- 
fere with  anybody  who  knew  their  business. 

It  was  a  source  of  some  chagrin  to  him,  however,  to  think  that 
he  had  so  far  no  expert  knowledge  of  any  trade,  and  this  im- 
pelled him  to  try  to  master  this  one,  if  only  to  the  extent  of 
supervision.  So  he  tried  and  found  himself  grateful  to  the  train- 
ing of  the  Little  Brown  Box,  which  had  made  him  familiar  with 
the  exigencies  of  the  currency.  But  for  the  most  part  he  let 
the  mechanism  run  on,  keeping  upstairs  out  of  the  way,  adjust- 
ing his  ideas  of  the  world  in  various  ways.  One  of  these  was 
clothes.  He  had  drawn  his  thirty  pounds  from  the  shipping 
office  and  put  it  under  the  tea-cosy  one  afternoon.  When  Nellie 
found  it  she  counted  it  carefully  and  copied  the  numbers  of  the 
notes  upon  a  piece  of  paper.  When  the  notes  themselves  were 
in  the  safe  in  the  bedroom,  she  said: 

"Why  don't  you  buy  some  clothes,  Hanny?" 

"  What's  the  matter  with  this  ?  "  he  asked,  touching  the  neat 
blue  serge  in  which  he  was  married. 

"  Nothing,  but  you'll  want  more  than  one  suit.  I've  been 
over  your  things,  and  you  need  a  lot." 

"  Well,  you  buy  them,"  he  said,  opening  the  Cambrian  Daily 
Leader.     "  I'm  no  'and  at  that  sort  of  thing." 

"  I  can't  buy  your  suits,"  she  protested.  "  Underwear  and 
socks,  yes,  but  not  suits.     You  want  to  be  measured." 

"  All  right,  old  lady,"  he  said  with  great  good  nature,  "  I'll 
go  to-morrow  morning." 

And  when  fairly  into  the  matter  of  it,  after  having  got  out  of 
the  one-suit  habit,  so  to  speak,  he  found  it  pleasant  enough  to 
multiply  his  personality  in  tweed  and  serge,  to  note  the  idio- 
syncrasies of  the  young  men  who  came  into  the  saloon  bar  and 
walked  with  lordly  airs  in  Oxford  Street.  He  grew  accustomed 
to  have  clothes,  in  time,  affecting  neutral  tints  and  inconspic- 
uous design,  and  eventually  ceased  to  give  the  matter  much 
thought,  as  other  fancies  took  possession  of  his  mind. 

One  thing  he  found  that  it  was  essential  to  have,  and  that 
was  something  to  do.     For  some  days  after  coming  back  from 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  463 

Crwmbrla,  where  they  were  married  ("  that  mouthful,"  he  called 
it),  he  had  gone  about  lackadaisically.  That  had  palled  terribly. 
Nellie  insisted  he  should  keep  out  of  draughts  and  button  his 
coat  up  when  he  went  out,  for  he  had  a  habit  of  lounging  along 
with  his  hands  in  his  pockets  and  his  waistcoat  showing.  He 
talked  with  Mrs.  Lloyd  until  she  returned  to  Neath  to  warm 
the  hearth  for  her  husband,  who  was  steward  of  one  of  Elder 
Dempster's  West  African  ships.  And  the  weather  being  bad 
and  (of  course)  rainy,  at  the  time,  he  bethought  himself  of  read- 
ing, recalling  Mr.  Grober  and  his  threepenny  books,  or  a  penny 
if  you  took  them  back.  He  told  Nellie  about  him  and  his  smoky 
shop,  his  whisky  and  his  "  bitter  half,"  as  Hannibal  called  the 
soured  woman  his  wife. 

"  Poor  things,"  said  Nellie.  "  Easy  to  laugh,  Han,  but  what 
a  life !     It  is  awful  how  some  people  live." 

"  Perhaps  he  ain't  to  blame,"  surmised  Hannibal,  "  bein'  a 
square  peg  in  a  round  'ole." 

So  he  betook  himself  to  a  shop  where  books  were  piled  in  an 
endless  and  glittering  variety,  a  shop  reminding  him  in  no 
detail  whatever  of  Mr.  Grober's  dingy  hole,  a  shop  full  of  dis- 
concerting ambuscades  of  literature  tended  by  discreet  young 
women,  who  puzzled  him  by  their  amazing  knowledge  of  books. 
They  seemed  to  have  read  them  all. 

"  Stories  about  the  sea  ?  Yes."  And  they  brought  down  a 
heap.     "What  would  you  like?     Pirates  or  history?" 

He  wouldn't  say,  ashamed  to  let  them  see  how  greatly  he,  a 
married  man,  desired  to  read  about  pirates.  He  took  up  Treas- 
ure Island. 

"  This  any  good  ?  "  he  asked,  flirting  the  leaves  over. 

"  Yes,  it  has  been  out  some  time  —  quite  a  classic,"  said  the 
young  woman,  and  he  nearly  put  it  down  again.  But  the  word 
"  pirate  "  caught  his  eye  on  one  page  and  he  took  it,  together 
with  Westward  Ho!  and  the  Frozen  Pirate. 

The  curious  thing  was  that  he  did  not  notice  that  these  stories 
were  in  any  wise  improbable.  That  they  did  not  happen  to  him 
was  no  fault  of  the  world,  but  himself.  It  was  just  accident, 
that  was  all.  They  might  happen  even  now.  And  as  he  took 
up  Treasure  Island  for  the  second  time,  and  read  the  tale  of 
the  doings  at  the  "  Admiral  Benbow  "  inn,  it  came  upon  him 
suddenly.  "  Why,"  he  muttered,  "  I'm  keepin'  a  pub,  or  an  inn, 
as  he  calls  it !  "     It  was  a  great  discovery.     Here  he  was,  keep- 


464  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

ing  a  tavern  in  a  seaport  town,  with  seafaring  men  coming  in 
for  goes  of  rum  (sometimes),  and  who  could  tell  when  a  pirate 
with  a  wooden  leg  would  not  come  stumping  in?  Here  he  was 
living  in  romance,  and  never  thought  to  look  at  it  that  way. 
There  was  the  name,  too,  "  Stormy  Petrel " !  It  became  the  pre- 
occupation of  his  waking  moments  and  the  stuff  of  many  dreams, 
this  idea  of  his  proximity  to  the  adventurous  life  of  bygone  days. 
He  would  look  down  into  the  narrow  street  and  watch  the  towns- 
people hurrying  to  and  fro,  imagining  desperate  motives  and  law- 
less schemes  to  be  behind  their  haste.  He  longed  for  a  man  with 
a  wooden  leg,  and  once  as  he  walked  down  to  the  shore  he  saw 
with  a  queer  feeling  of  delicious  horror  a  blind  man,  tapping 
along  the  asphalt  path.  Surely  it  was  Pew.  Alas!  the  poor 
wretch  had  a  tin  cup  on  his  breast,  proving  he  was  no  pirate  save 
upon  charitable  purses.  So  it  couldn't  be  Pew.  He  told  Nellie 
of  his  fancy,  alluding  to  the  name  of  the  house.     She  laughed. 

"  I  had  thought  of  changing  it,"  she  said,  "  to  get  a  better 
class  of  trade.     The  '  Glamorgan  Arms,'  or  something  like  that." 

"  Oh,  you  mustn't  do  that,  old  lady,"  he  protested.  "  That 
would  spoil  it.  Think!  It's  like  a  bit  out  of  a  book.  The 
1  Stormy  Petrel.' " 

She  consented  to  let  it  stand,  if  it  amused  him,  and  busied 
herself  with  the  more  practical  side  of  the  house.  He  insisted 
she  should  read  the  book  that  had  so  seized  upon  his  imagination, 
and  to  please  him  she  did  so,  lamenting  the  dearth  of  love  in- 
terest. 

"  They're  an  awful  lot  of  ruffians,"  she  complained.  "  What 
on  earth  d'you  want  to  read  about  people  who  are  always  kill- 
ing somebody,  Hanny?  They'd  all  be  locked  up  if  they  behaved 
like  that  now."  But  she  caught  a  little  of  his  enthusiasm  after 
all,  even  to  the  extent  of  reporting  the  momentous  fact  that  a 
man  with  a  wooden  leg  had  drunk  a  glass  of  beer  in  the  public 
bar  one  afternoon. 

"  And  me  not  in !  "  he  exclaimed,  laughing  at  himself. 

He  bought  a  parrot,  too,  a  grey,  suspicious-looking  bird  from 
Las  Palmas,  who  loved  warmth  and  squalled  at  everybody  who 
came  near.  No  amount  of  soothing  reiteration  of  "  Poor  Polly, 
Good  Polly,"  would  soften  the  baleful  gleam  in  that  sombre 
bird's  eye.  "  They  don't  talk  when  they're  young,"  he  would 
explain  to  Nellie,  as  they  stood  before  the  cage. 

"  He's  awful  bad  tempered,"  Nellie  would  remark. 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  465 

"  Perhaps  'e's  grieving  over  bein'  took  away  from  'is  'ome," 
Hannibal  would  suggest,  and  then  the  parrot  would  vent  his 
appalling  screech,  and  there  was  nothing  for  it  but  the  cloth.  .  .  . 

"  I  wish  'e'd  learn  to  say  '  pieces  of  eight,'  "  he  would  say, 
coughing.  It  became  a  custom  with  him  to  go  down  in  the 
evening  to  the  saloon  bar  and  talk  with  the  patrons  who  came 
obviously  from  ships.  Mates  and  engineers  learned  to  know  the 
young  boss,  and  decorative  versions  of  his  life-history  passed 
from  ship  to  ship,  ran  through  enlarged  editions  in  foreign  ports, 
and  came  back  unrecognisably  romantic.  It  brought  business, 
as  Nellie  expressed  it,  and  so  had  its  uses,  though  Hannibal 
thought  little  of  that.  It  was^  very  pleasant  to  lean  over  the 
bar  and  watch  the  drink  passing,  and  add  his  quota  to  the  stories 
of  far-away ;  pleasant  to  be  able  to  say,  "  When  I  was  in  Singa- 
pore," or  "  Yes,  I  saw  her  in  New  York."  It  gave  him  a  cer- 
tain prestige.  It  did  not  disturb  these  patrons  that  they  had 
heard  he  had  been  only  a  fireman.  They  only  wished  they  could 
get  fixed  as  he  had  done.  He  was  good-natured  too,  and  was 
ready  to  stand  occasionally  himself,  if  he  knew  his  company. 
Always  he  asked  at  some  point  in  the  conversation,  "  Do  you 
know  the  Caryatid?  yellow  funnel,  black  top?" 

"  Out  of  London?  "  a  second  mate  would  enquire. 

"  Ah,  Billiter  Lane." 

"  Carry  passengers,  don't  they  ?  " 

"  Some.  Not  the  Caryatid.  Old  sugar  basket  she  was." 
And  he  would  laugh  and  tell  them  of  something  that  happened 
"  while  I  was  in  her." 

Always,  too,  he  would  look  round  to  see  if  any  one  he  had 
known  was  present.  It  would  be  delightful  to  see  Spink  enter, 
for  instance,  to  see  his  look  of  sudden  puzzled  recognition,  to 
shake  hands  and  ask  him  what  he  would  drink.  Ask  him  up- 
stairs? Rather!  Or  Mr.  Hopkins,  though  Mr.  Hopkins  did  not 
frequent  taverns.  And,  strangely  enough,  one  evening  as  he 
came  through  from  the  grill-room  he  saw  a  familiar  back.  The 
barmaid  was  opening  a  bottle  of  soda  water  and  splashing  it 
into  a  whisky.  Hannibal  came  along  behind  the  bar,  his  eager 
young  face  alight  with  pleasure.     He  nodded. 

"  Good  evening,  Mr.  Titheradge." 

"  Good  evening,"  said  the  other,  reaching  for  a  match  and 
scarcely  looking  up. 

"  Don't  remember  me,   I   suppose  ?  "  said  Hannibal,  smiling. 


466  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

The  late  Third  of  the  Caryatid  regarded  his  host  with  atten- 
tion and  uttered  a  subdued  and  profane  ejaculation. 

"  Why  —  what's  to  do  ?  "  he  exclaimed.  "  Swallowed  the  an- 
chor?" 

Hannibal  nodded,  enjoying  his  bewilderment  and  the  polite 
interest  of  the  other  customers. 

Mr.  Titheradge  swallowed  his  whisky  and  desired  information, 
and  Hannibal  insisted  he  should  walk  upstairs  and  see  the  wife. 

"  Wife,"  muttered  Titheradge,  with  his  glassy  stare.  "  So 
you  did  it,  then  ?  " 

"  Bet  your  life,"  grinned  Hannibal,  leading  the  way. 

It  was  a  great  experience  for  both  of  them.  The  Third  was 
frankly  generous  in  his  approval  of  Nellie,  and  drank  half  a 
bottle  of  whisky  while  he  detailed  his  own  career.  He  had  left 
the  Caryatid  in  Liverpool  and  gone  home  for  Christmas.  Got 
a  Second's  job  on  a  Hartlepool  boat  —  not  much  of  a  gamble  — 
poor  grub  and  a  Chief  who  behaved  as  if  his  feet  hurt  him  — 
just  in  to  bunker  —  away  to-morrow  to  Fiume,  and  up  the  Black 
Sea  for  grain.  Spink?  Oh,  Spink  got  his  ticket  and  was  away 
in  one  of  Kitty  Furness's  ships  —  forget  which  one  —  B.A.  and 
Rio  run.  He  believed  the  Caryatid  was  in  Calcutta  on  time- 
charter. Awful  life.  He'd  had  some  —  damn  glad  he'd  left. 
Yes,  the  Second  and  Chief  were  still  in  her.  And  Mr.  Titheradge 
took  another  peg. 

"  You're  pretty  well  fixed  here,"  he  remarked,  looking  round. 
"  Parrot,  too.     Quite  nautical !     Some  people  do  have  luck." 

"  Why  don't  you  get  married  too  ?  "  asked  Nellie,  smiling. 

"  Got  any  sisters  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Titheradge.  And  Hannibal 
slapped  his  leg  and  burst  out  laughing  and  coughing. 

"  She's  married,"  Nellie  answered,  tittering. 

"  There  you  are !     Just  my  luck !  "  sighed  Mr.  Titheradge. 

"  Yes,  but  there's  heaps  of  nice  girls  everywhere.  You  know 
the  song?  "     And  she  hummed  the  music-hall  ditty: 

There's  nice  girls  everywhere, 
Nice  girls  everywhere. 

Mr.  Titheradge,  eyeing  a  photogravure  entitled  "  The  Garden 
of  Eden,"  which  Nellie  had  bought  as  a  present  for  Hannibal, 
pursed  his  lips  and  looked  sceptical. 

"  That's  what  the  furnishing  pirates  say,"  he  remarked. 
"  You  get  married,  we  do  the  rest." 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  467 

"  It's  worth  trying,"  urged  Hannibal. 

"  On  twelve  pounds  a  month  ?  "  said  the  other  sarcastically. 

"  Plenty  do  it  on  less,"  said  Nellie. 

"  Well,  if  you  hear  of  anything,  let  me  know,"  Mr.  Tither- 
adge  remarked.  "  Anything  like  this,  I  mean,"  and  he  waved 
his  hand  round  the  room.  "  I'll  be  round  pretty  sharp,  I  can 
tell  you." 

"If  you  love  each  other,  it  doesn't  matter "  began  Nellie, 

but  the  visitor  put  up  his  hand. 

"  Don't,  Mrs.  Gooderich,  don't  —  I  can't  bear  it  —  I  can't 
indeed.  If  I  gave  that  sort  of  talk  its  right  name,  you'd  be 
shocked." 

They  stood  side  by  side,  looking  at  him,  as  he  rose  and  reached 
for  his  coat.  They  were  sorry  he  felt  that  way.  "  Come  down 
and  have  a  look  at  the  Blooming dale,"  he  said  to  Hannibal, 
accepting  a  cigar.  "  I  used  to  think  the  Caryatid  was  a  wreck, 
but  I  hadn't  seen  this  packet  then.  She's  a  peach.  We're  in 
the  Prince  of  Wales  dock,  but  he's  not  there  just  now." 

"  I  will,"  said  Hannibal. 

So  he  did,  picking  his  way  next  morning  among  the  railway 
ties  and  discovering  Mr.  Titheradge  in  a  very  warm,  dark 
engine-room,  for  the  coal  was  thundering  on  the  skylights, 
wrestling  with  an  old  and  recalcitrant  reversing-engine. 

"  Quite  like  old  times,"  he  remarked,  looking  round  for  a 
piece  of  waste. 

Hannibal  talked  about  the  meeting  for  days,  after  he  had 
stood  on  the  pier  head  and  waved  to  the  old  Blooming  dale  as 
she  crawled  out  into  the  Bay  one  misty  February  morning.  Nel- 
lie listened  to  him  as  he  went  over  all  the  incidents  of  his  sea 
life. 

"  Do  you  want  to  go  to  sea  again  ?  "  she  demanded  suddenly, 
as  she  sat  by  a  great  heap  of  newspapers  in  their  sitting- 
room. 

He  looked  at  her,  startled.  The  drone  of  the  electric  cars  in 
Oxford  Street  came  faintly  to  their  ears. 

"  No,"  he  said  vaguely,  as  he  looked  out  into  the  little  street. 
"  No,  I  don't  know  as  I  do,  Nellie.  Seein'  the  chaps  and  talkin's 
all  right,  but  I  reckon  it's  the  beach  for  me  for  a  bit  yet." 

"  A  year,  anyway,"  she  suggested,  hunting  among  the  papers, 
so  that  her  face  was  hidden  from  him  if  he  should  turn. 

"  Ah,"  he  asserted. 


468  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

"  Oh,"  she  said,  "  this  is  what  I  was  looking  for.  This,"  and 
she  showed  him  an  advertisement.     "  Why  not  try  it  ?  " 

It  was  a  good  advertisement  in  a  way,  an  English  way.  A 
French  or  Italian  specialist  in  publicity  would  have  lifted  his 
shoulders  in  despair  of  the  consummate  banality  of  it.  An 
American  of  the  same  profession  would  have  said  it  lacked  punch. 
They  would  all  be  right;  but  for  the  English,  it  was  a  good 
advertisement.  It  proved  that  Minnie,  who  had  composed  it, 
who  had,  through  Mrs.  Wilfley,  received  twenty  pounds  for  it 
(Mrs.  Wilfley  merely  raking  off  a  trifling  fiver),  had  learned 
the  essentials  of  the  art,  and  had,  moreover,  a  certain  propen- 
sity for  it.  It  was  plain  that  she  had  studied  under  that  culti- 
vated lady  the  science  of  "  Commercial  Psychology,"  the  chair 
of  which  Sir  Anthony  Gilfillan  had  endowed  at  London  Uni- 
versity. The  fruitfulness  of  her  study  was  apparent  in  the  fact 
that  she  caught  Nellie,  and  Nellie  was  sharp  enough  in  her  own 
line.  She  knew  beer  was  a  deleterious  mess  in  most  cases,  con- 
taining saline  stuff  to  aggravate  thirst  instead  of  allaying  it; 
that  whisky  was  faked  with  potato  spirit,  and  port  was  doctored 
with  log-wood;  but  she  did  not  think  that  there  was  aught  of 
guile  in  that  advertisement.  It  was  headed  in  exquisite  Kelm- 
scott  type,  Are  you  anxious  about  some  one  you  love? 

She  was.  Well,  was  she  lying  awake  thinking  of  some  precious 
soul  who  was  all  in  all  to  her?  Did  she  note,  with  the  piercing 
eye  of  affection,  symptoms  that  none  but  she  could  see?  Was 
she  afraid  to  exaggerate  some  possible  trifle  by  speaking  of  it? 

Did  she  realise  this  risk? 

What  would  she  say  to  herself,  when  it  was  too  late? 

Would  she  ever  forgive  herself  if  she  failed  to  try  every  rem- 
edy? 

Perhaps  the  doctor  had  said  nothing.  Oh,  yes,  but  with  all 
respect  for  the  whole  medical  profession,  was  it  not  human  to 
err?  Was  it  not  madness  to  believe  in  the  infallibility  of  a 
poor  mortal  being  like  a  doctor?  Why,  it  was  gross  irreligion 
savouring  almost  of  papistry. 

Humanum  est  errare. 

So  far  the  clever  spacing  and  arresting  type  had  carried  Nel- 
lie along,  but  now  the  advertisement  got  down  to  business  and 
the  type  got  down  to  two-line  pica.  And  when  a  modern  adver- 
tisement, composed  by  a  student  of  Commercial  Psychology,  gets 
down  to  business,  the  reader  begins  to  shake  in  his  or  her  shoes. 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  469 

Nellie  shrank  as  from  a  whip  when  she  first  read  it.  It  was 
gross  irreligion,  folly,  to  place  a  blind  confidence  in  an  erring 
human  practitioner,  was  it  not?  But  what  was  it,  then,  to  neg- 
lect the  aid  held  out  to  you  by  those  who  had  devoted  their  lives 
to  your  welfare?  It  was  not  merely  irreligion,  it  was  not  merely 
folly,  it  was  criminal  neglect!  In  all  solemnity,  and  with  a 
full  consciousness  of  the  gravity  of  their  words,  the  proprietors 
of  Fochaber's  Cough  Eliminator  had  no  hesitation  in  describ- 
ing it  as  criminal  neglect.  No  money  need  be  sent,  no  respon- 
sibility was  incurred,  by  writing  to-day  for  a  sample  bottle.  The 
poorest  had  no  excuse,  while  the  spread  of  education  enabled 
the  most  humble  of  their  brothers  and  sisters  to  learn  the  glad 
tidings  of  great  joy  which  had  been  brought  to  many  by  this 
incomparable  preparation. 

It  was  a  very  good  advertisement. 

"  What  do  you  think  ? "  Nellie  asked,  anxiously  watching 
Hannibal's  face  as  his  eyes  travelled  down  the  page  and  rested 
finally  upon  the  picture,  a  woman  with  streaming  hair,  kneeling 
by  a  bedside,  entitled,  "  Too  Late."  Hannibal  put  the  paper 
down,  obviously  perturbed. 

"  Me,  my  cough,  you  mean  ?     Oh,  it's  nothing." 

The  same  thought  flashed  through  their  minds  at  the  same 
instant.  That  was  just  what  the  advertisement  said,  and  then 
— "  too  late." 

"  It  won't  do  any  harm  just  to  try  it,"  she  ventured,  and  he 
nodded.     "  All  right,  old  lady.     Go  ahead." 

The  afternoon  was  fine,  the  first  of  a  series  of  fine  spring 
days  when  the  white  clouds  raced  across  the  blue  sky  and  dis- 
appeared behind  the  green  hills  over  the  town,  when  the  sea 
sparkled  and  curled  under  the  whip  of  the  westerly  wind.  Nel- 
lie went  to  a  druggist's  shop  and  purchased  a  bottle  of  Focha- 
ber's Eliminator.  It  was  in  a  tasteful  pasteboard  box,  wrapped 
with  testimonials,  and  directions  in  thirty-nine  languages,  and 
had  a  Government  seal  on  one  end.  Minnie  had  done  the  work 
for  her  employers  most  thoroughly  and  well.  Mrs.  Wilfley  had 
told  no  untruth  when  she  said  to  guests  at  her  new  flat  in  the 
Temple,  an  eyrie  overlooking  the  Thames,  that  some  of  Mrs. 
Briscoe's  writings,  like  her  own,  though  not  to  be  named,  had 
been  translated  into  as  many  languages  as  the  Scriptures?  And 
while  Mrs.  Wilfley  smiled  and  Minnie  looked  out  upon  the  deli- 
cate Thames  nocturne  that  evening,  Nellie  and  Hannibal,  in  their 


470  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

own  sitting-room  over  the  bar  of  the  "  Stormy  Petrel/'  carefully 
removed  the  polyglottic  wrappings  of  the  bottle  of  Fochaber's 
Eliminator,  and  gazed  with  a  simple  speechless  awe  upon  the 
mystic  bottle  within,  as  though  it  had  contained  a  god.  For  it 
was  no  use  trying  to  treat  the  matter  lightly.  There  was  no 
badinage  or  frivolous  jesting  about  Fochaber's.  The  innermost 
wrapper  was  devoted  to  symptoms  and  medical  terms.  Pleurisy, 
Nellie  read,  was  either  diaphragmatic  or  interlobular.  In  either 
case  prevention  was  better  than  cure.  Beware  of  the  cough,  that 
dry  cough.  They  looked  at  each  other.  Was  Hannibal's  cough 
dry?     "  Sometimes  I  spit  stuff,"  he  remarked. 

"  But  it's  generally  dry,"  she  argued,  and  he  nodded. 

And  the  next  day  he  was  better.  He  had  been  for  a  good 
swinging  walk  round  to  Oystermouth  and  back,  and  eaten  a 
hearty  tea.  He  felt  better.  They  exchanged  smiles  and  con- 
gratulations over  the  breakfast  table. 

"  Wasn't  it  a  good  job  I  thought  of  it?  "  she  said. 

"  Rather.  I'll  go  on  with  it,"  he  returned.  And  he  did. 
Three  bottles  at  half  a  crown  each  were  purchased  and  used, 
and  each  time  after  a  dose  he  felt  better.  He  went  out  for 
walks,  visited  neighbours,  looked  up  chance  acquaintances  on 
the  ships,  and  amused  himself  devising  adventurous  happenings 
on  the  way.  In  time  he  would  be  all  right.  And  Nellie  regis- 
tered a  vow  that  she  would  write  to  Fochaber's  and  tell  them 
what  she  owed  them.     It  would  be  only  right. 

So  time  passed  on,  and  with  the  coming  of  summer  Hannibal 
did  to  all  seeming  improve,  though  Nellie  thought  it  best  for 
him  to  take  his  medicine  regularly,  in  case  of  relapse.  They 
paid  a  visit  to  Neath  and  saw  Mrs.  Lloyd  and  her  husband,  the 
steward,  and  Hannibal  learned  something  of  the  ins  and  outs 
of  that  department  of  life.  And  then  an  event  of  great  im- 
portance to  Nellie  happened. 

Mrs.  Gooderich  Senior  came  down  on  a  visit. 

Hannibal  met  her  at  the  station  in  a  lordly  way,  and  quite 
overwhelmed  her  with  his  fine  new  clothes,  his  watch-chain, 
his  moustache,  his  cab,  his  cuff-links,  and  his  cigar,  which  last 
made  him  cough.  Was  this  Hanny?  Was  it  possible  that  this 
was  the  dirty  little  rapscallion  who  used  to  go  fishing  in  Littler's 
Pond? 

There  was  a  suspicion  of  smugness  about  his  mother's  face 
nowadays.     The  Facts,  having  bowled  over  her  moral  sense,  had 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  471 

gone  on  to  smooth  out  the  wrinkles  of  existence  to  such  an  ex- 
tent that  Mrs.  Gooderich  Senior  was  in  danger  of  becoming 
supercilious.  She  grew  sceptical  even  of  the  genuineness  of 
those  people  who  couldn't  make  ends  meet.  She  told  Hannibal 
that  the  working-classes  were  a  lot  better  off  than  the  middle- 
classes,  which  smelled  to  Hannibal  like  a  piece  of  Minnie's 
philosophy.  She  approved  of  Nellie,  who  was  a  little  uncer- 
tain of  herself  just  then,  and  laughed  without  any  apparent 
reason,  and  she  gave  an  unmistakable  verdict  in  favour  of  Foeha- 
ber's  —  why,  it  was  advertised  all  over  London.  She  heard  Mrs. 
Wilfley  say  Fochaber's  had  paid  fifty  thousand  in  London  alone 
to  the  space-brokers.     Think  of  that! 

She  stayed  two  months,  winning  Nellie's  confidence  and  en- 
joying the  sea  air.  Sitting  on  the  pier  at  Mumbles  one  serene 
evening,  Mrs.  Gooderich  suddenly  realised  how  extremely  for- 
tunate her  life  had  been  since  she  had  relinquished  her  uncom- 
promising sense  of  honesty.  And  yet,  what  was  wrong  with  her 
life?  Nothing.  She  lived  with  her  daughter,  who  had  mar- 
ried well;  she  had  been  staying  with  her  son,  who  ha  J  married 
still  more  well.  What  could  be  more  respectable  than  her 
existence  in  Tedworth  Square?  True,  she  did  not  dare  to  inter- 
fere or  even  show  herself  too  much  when  Minnie's  fine  friends 
came.  She  contented  herself  with  tending  the  endless  needs  of 
Anthony  Briscoe,  whose  dark  eyes  gazed  up  at  her  occasionally 
from  the  cradle.  Even  there  hers  was  a  back  seat,  for  the 
trained  nurse  resented  suggestions.  After  all,  she  had  only  to 
be  quiet,  and  life  flowed  on  smoothly  month  after  month,  un- 
assailed  by  money  troubles.  She  read  Mrs.  Wilfley 's  articles  in 
Sunday  Words  or  in  the  daily  papers,  and  felt  uplifted.  She 
read  novels,  "  old  favourites  "  like  Left  With  a  Trust,  and  all 
the  Pansy  stories.  And  she  and  Nellie  found  a  point  of  joyous 
contact  in  a  common  appreciation  of  Allen  Raine.  Nellie,  for 
all  her  shrewd  practical  business  sense,  revelled  in  the  stories 
of  Allen  Raine.  So  did  Mrs.  Gooderich  Senior  when  she  be- 
came acquainted  with  them.  Together  they  smiled  on  Hanny's 
fancies  for  pirates  and  dead  men's  chests,  and  they  gave  the 
parrot  the  benefit  of  much  elegant  conversation  concerning  "  she  " 
and  "  he  "  and  what  "  they  "  did  in  the  historical  present  of  ro- 
mance. They  attended  chapel  together,  and  enjoyed  in  a  mild 
way  the  spiritual  ecstasy  of  comfortable  prayer. 

No.     As  she  sat  there  on  the  pier  that  evening,  Mary  Goode- 


472  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

rich  felt  that  her  lines  had  fallen  upon  pleasant  places,  and  that 
she  had  earned  a  little  rest. 

And  so,  I  think,  she  had. 

It  was  in  September  that  a  sudden  idea  came  to  Nellie  as  she 
sat  at  a  table  covered  with  papers.  She  was  enclosing  a  cheque 
for  the  fire  insurance  of  the  premises,  when  a  little  list  of  life 
premiums  fell  on  her  lap  from  the  sheaf  of  papers  in  her  hand. 
She  looked  up. 

"Hanny?" 

Hannibal  came  out  of  the  depths  of  Roderick  Random  with  a 
grunt  of  enquiry. 

"  You  ought  to  insure  your  life ! " 

"Me?" 

"  Yes.     You  see,  the  sooner  you  start  the  better.     Look  here. 

It  says "     He  bent  his  head  down  to  hers.     " it  says, 

1  Age  next  birthday  twenty,  premium  for  two  hundred  pounds, 
two  pounds  five  a  year.  Redeemable  when  you're  fifty  at  three 
hundred  pounds.'  Hanny!  Just  think  what  a  nice  little  nest- 
egg  that'll  be  for  —  for  you  know !  " 

Hannibal,  his  hands  on  his  knees,  looked  down  at  his  feet. 

"  All  right,  old  lady,"  he  said  soberly.  "  I  don't  reckon  that'll 
break  us." 

"  It  says  any  doctor,  you  see  ?  "  She  pointed.  "  You've  got 
to  see  a  doctor,  of  course." 

He  nodded,  sunk  once  more  in  his  chair  and  Roderick  Random. 

An  intense  conviction  had  taken  hold  of  his  mind  as  he 
steadily  made  his  way  through  tale  after  tale  of  adventure  and 
mystery;  a  conviction  that,  when  he  might  least  expect  it,  the 
True  Romance  would  sweep  into  his  existence.  He  would  let 
the  book  slide,  and  stare  away  into  vacancy,  seeking  for  he 
knew  not  what.  Life  was  a  wonderful  thing!  Who  could  tell 
what  might  not  happen  to  him,  if  he  only  had  the  wit  to  seize 
the  chance? 

"  It'll  come,"  he  would  say  to  himself,  "  it'll  come,  if  I  wait." 

So  it  did,  embodied  unostentatiously  in  a  very  young  man, 
whose  overcoat  buttons  fell  away  from  the  holes  and  disclosed 
a  uniform  of  stark  newness.  That  was  a  raw  October  night,  a 
week  before  Nellie  suddenly  decided  to  go  and  see  the  doctor, 
for  various  reasons. 

"  You'd  think  I  only  needed  a  big  brass  helmet  to  be  the  hero 
of  the  piece,"  said  the  young  man  in  facetious  allusion  to  his 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  473 

uniform.  "And  when  I  tell  you,"  he  added,  leaning  confi- 
dentially across  the  bar,  "  that  I'm  only  the  Third  Mate  of 
her,  you'll  wonder  what  the  Old  Man  must  be  like  when  he's 
got  his  war-paint  on,  eh  ?  " 

"  Passenger  boat?  "  asked  Hannibal. 

"  Not  on  your  life !  "  The  young  man  was  evidently  con- 
fronted by  a  situation  beyond  his  scope.  He  drank  a  little  more 
whisky.     "  Have  you  ever  seen  a  wind-bag  with  a  propeller  ?  " 

"  Not  me." 

"  Well,  come  down  and  look  at  the  Beile  Glas  —  she's  in  the 
North  Dock.  She's  worth  a  squint.  I  joined  her  at  Clydebank, 
and  she  was  called  the  mystery  ship  up  there.  '  What's  her 
cargo  ? '  says  I  to  the  rigger.  *  Wine  for  the  owner,'  says  he. 
'  That's  why  she  carries  electric  windlass  and  winches,  steam 
would  spoil  the  bouquet  of  the  ninety-three.'  All  piff,  o'  course, 
but  there  you  are.  A  thousand  tons,  four  masts,  Yankee  rig,  a 
six-foot  propeller,  electric  lights,  wireless,  and  the  finest  ac- 
commodation I've  ever  seen.     She's  a  floating  Pullman!" 

And  it  was  all  true.  Hannibal  went  down  the  rain-swept 
Wind  Street  the  next  day  and  saw  her. 

She  was  of  grey  steel,  with  four  tall  masts  carrying  enormous 
booms.  Her  deck-houses  were  of  teak  and  glittering  with 
varnish,  German  silver,  and  electric  light  reflectors.  One  blade 
of  an  undeniable  propeller  stuck  above  the  water.  To  add  to 
the  mystery,  a  board  marked  "  No  Admittance  "  hung  forbid- 
dingly by  the  gangway.  There  was  no  reservation  in  favour 
of  those  "  on  business,"  no  suggestion  that  a  man  might  quite 
legitimately  stroll  up  and  ask  for  a  friend,  say  the  Third  Mate. 
It  was  as  plain  as  one  of  the  Ten  Commandments,  as  terse  as  an 
act  of  God.     "  No  Admittance." 

He  returned  to  the  "  Stormy  Petrel "  thinking  of  treasure- 
seekers,  forgotten  lands,  rich  owners,  and  mouldering  maps.  It 
new  in  his  mind,  this  conviction  that  he  had  found  a  romance. 
"Pieces  of  eight!  Pieces  of  eight!"  Each  evening  that  talk- 
ative young  man  in  the  shining  uniform  leaned  over  the  bar,  and 
smiled,  and  added  fresh  fuel  to  the  fire  of  his  imagination,  mys- 
terious hints  —  sealed  orders  —  stores  for  two  years  on  board 
—  all  British  crew  —  a  machine  gun  —  tons  of  ammunition  — 
marked  tinned  meat  on  the  manifest  of  course,  ha-ha!  —  and  so 
on.  And  as  the  days  passed,  a  crazy  scheme  took  shape  in  Han- 
nibal's  mind,   and   the   two   heads   leaned  closer   together,   the 


474  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

round,  dark,  bullet  head  of  the  Londoner  and  the  long,  high- 
crowned  cranium  of  the  youth,  who  came,  obviously  enough,  from 
Londonderry. 

"  Sure,  man,  it  can  be  done,"  the  latter  was  saying.  "  We're 
going  off  to  the  buoy  about  twelve.  The  Captain,  who  hasn't 
come  back  from  Plymouth  yet,  is  to  join  us  about  that  time. 
If  you  come  down  about  seven,  say,  and  walk  aboard  as  if  you'd 
business  with  us,  you  understand?  Seven,  say.  I  must  run 
now.  The  Stores  have  come  for  the  Captain  to-day  —  con- 
signed from  Plymouth." 

"  I'll  be  down,"  said  Hannibal. 

It  was  a  simple .  scheme  of  his,  simple,  plausible,  and  stark 
mad.  He  would  dress  himself  in  his  old  clothes,  slip  down  to 
the  Beile  Glas,  and  get  the  Third  Mate  to  show  him  round,  and 
then  —  trust  to  luck  to  stow  himself  away.  He  must  seize  this 
chance  to  swing  on  to  the  car  of  True  Romance  as  it  passed 
him.  He  must  find  out  the  tale  of  this  strange  visitant.  The 
Beile  Glas!     Stores  from  Plymouth!     Sealed  orders!     Lummy! 

He  went  round  whistling  softly  to  himself,  watching  the  clock. 

"Going  out  to-night,  dear?"  said  Nellie  casually,  and  he 
jumped. 

"  Oh,  I  may,"  he  remarked. 

"  I  saw  Dr.  Rhys  Evans  to-day,"  she  chatted.  "  He's  com- 
ing round  to-morrow  morning." 

"I  see,"  said  Hannibal.  "Where's  my  old  overcoat?"  he 
asked. 

"  Whatever  for  ?  " 

"  I'm  going  down  to  'ave  a  look  at  a  ship,  see?  Makes  the 
clo's  so  dirty." 

"  I  gave  it  away  months  ago,"  she  told  him.  "  What  do  you 
want  to  go  messing  about  ships  for  ?  "  she  queried  fretfully. 

"  Well,  I  can  if  I  like,  can't  I  ?  "  he  answered,  a  little  cross. 

"  Oh,  go  if  you  want  to "  she  said,  and  he  waited  for  the 

word  "  dear,"  but  it  did  not  come.  He  felt  aggrieved.  She 
took  no  interest.  He  took  his  usual  coat  and  cap  and  went  out. 
It  was  already  seven  o'clock.  He  must  hurry.  He  ran  down 
Wind  Street  and  full  into  a  keen  autumnal  gale  sweeping  along 
the  Port  Tennant  Road.  And  when  he  reached  the  dock-side 
he  was  in  a  bath  of  perspiration. 

At  first  he  could  see  nothing.  The  stretch  of  water  where 
the  grey  ship  had  been  was  clear,  sparkling,  and  empty.     Then 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  475 

he  understood.  That  dull  patch  in  the  shadow  of  the  ware- 
houses, a  patch  with  a  single  light  hanging  near  the  bow,  was 
the  Beile  Glas,  at  the  buoy.     He  was  too  late. 

He  stood  for  a  moment,  benumbed  of  brain,  slowly  rousing 
from  the  curious  aberration  that  had  possessed  him.  He  sat 
down  on  one  of  the  bitts  and  tried  to  think.  What  was  to  be 
done?  He  could  not  go  back  just  now.  He  wanted  to  see  the 
Beile  Glas  go  out.  It  all  crystallised  down  to  that  in  time.  He 
must  see  the  Beile  Glas  go  out.  It  seemed  to  him,  as  he  looked 
across  at  the  silent  ship,  that  she  held  more  than  a  general 
mystery.  She  held  part  of  himself,  a  part  he  was  about  to 
relinquish,  a  certain  delicate  sense  of  illusion,  and  she  was  tak- 
ing it  out  to  sea,  to  lose  it  on  the  trackless  waters  where  he 
had  found  it.  It  was  in  obedience  to  this  feeling  that  he  waited 
on;  and  when,  about  nine  o'clock,  he  heard  some  commotion 
near  her  and  a  tug  came  out  of  the  gloom,  he  turned  and  ran 
along  the  road  again,  far  out  on  the  pier  where  the  red  light 
burns,  so  that  he  might  see  her  pass.  It  was  cold  and  very 
dark  there,  mysteriously  cold  and  dark,  the  wind  blowing  through 
the  timber  piles  and  the  black  water  moving  unseen  with  an  ooze 
and  a  slap  below  him.  Several  times  he  shivered  and  coughed, 
but  he  took  no  heed.  He  was  looking  at  the  town  lights  round 
the  bay,  at  the  dark  hills  touched  with  the  crimson  glare  of  the 
steel  works  over  by  Landore.  What  a  pity,  he  murmured,  what 
a  pity  he  had  missed  her!  Here  was  a  treasure-ship  going  out 
on  the  tide,  a  treasure  ship,  and  he  had  missed  her.  He  would 
be  out  of  all  the  fun  after  all,  out  of  the  fights  with  savages  and 
buccaneers.  He  had  hoped  to  see  them  swing  at  the  end  of 
those  tremendous  booms.  Of  course  he  would  be  under  hatches 
during  the  fight,  but  when  all  the  ammunition  had  been  sent  up 
and  it  came  to  the  final  rush,  he  would  grab  a  cutlass  and  .  .  . 

He  became  aware  of  her,  a  trembling  blackness  in  the  shadows, 
a  faint  pulsation,  communicating  itself  to  the  timbers  on  which 
he  stood.  She  drew  nearer,  looming  large  above  him,  her  tall 
masts  blood-red  in  the  light  of  the  lantern,  the  smoke  of  the 
tug  drifting  through  her  rigging  like  the  smoke  of  battle.  He 
saw  dark  forms  on  her  decks  going  back  and  forth,  he  heard  the 
clang  of  a  bell,  a  gruff  voice,  and  the  soft  purr  of  a  dynamo.  A 
shrill  whistle  sounded  as  she  cleared,  and  he  strained  his  eyes 
to  see  the  last  of  her  as  she  receded.  She  was  gone,  gone  with 
her  secret  and  his,  and  a  sigh  escaped  him.     It  was  gone  forever, 


476  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

that  foolish  idea  of  his,  that  iridescent  rainbow  edging  of 
things,  and  he  must  try  and  remember.  She  was  gone  and  part 
of  him  with  her,  out  into  the  night. 

He  bought  a  paper  as  he  passed  through  Castle  Square,  and 
saw  among  the  brief  paragraphs  that  filled  the  front  page  the 
announcement  that  "  The  Special  Survey  ship  Beile  Glds  was 
due  to  sail  that  evening  for  Punta  Arenas,  under  sealed  orders." 

Several  times  he  had  to  pause,  with  bowed  head,  while  a 
paroxysm  of  coughing  swept  him,  and  he  felt  conscious  of  a 
"  pain  somewhere  inside." 

Nellie  met  him  on  the  landing. 

"Where  have  you  been?"  she  asked,  amazed.  "It's  past 
eleven  o'clock." 

"  What  I  said,"  he  replied  huskily.  "  Went  down  to  see  a 
ship  off.     Everything  all  right." 

"  I  was  getting  frightened,"  she  reproached  him.  "  You've 
got  a  cold  again.  You  better  take  some  of  that  stuff."  And 
she  went  slowly  across  the  bedroom  to  the  medicine  chest  to 
get  the  bottle  of  Fochaber's  Eliminator.  She  always  kept  it  in 
the  house  now. 

"  I'll  be  all  right  in  the  morning,"  he  croaked. 

But  in  the  morning  he  was  anything  but  all  right.  He  lay  in 
bed  very  ill  indeed,  while  Nellie,  after  giving  him  some  more 
Fochaber's,  decided  that  Doctor  Rhys  Evans  might  as  well  see 
him  too.  He  could  prescribe  for  the  cold  and  examine  him  for 
the  insurance  company  at  the  same  time. 

The  doctor,  who  was  young  enough  to  enjoy  his  own  sense 
of  humour,  came  in  casually  about  eleven  o'clock.  To  Nellie's 
surprise  Hannibal  had  not  risen  at  all.  He  did  not  know  what 
ailed  him.  All  he  could  tell  her  was  that,  if  he  lay  on  his  left 
side,  he  could  hardly  breathe;  if  he  lay  on  his  right  side  it  was 
not  much  better;  if  he  lay  on  his  back  he  could  not  cough, 
and  was  nearly  strangled;  and  when  he  got  into  position  for 
coughing,  he  thought  he  was  going  to  die. 

Doctor  Rhys  Evans  came  in  jauntily  from  his  runabout  car, 
quite  at  ease  with  himself  and  the  world.  Nellie's  description 
of  her  husband's  cough,  together  with  the  talk  of  insurance 
policies,  had  not  led  him  to  expect  anything  serious.  "  Sweet- 
hearts still,  and  worrying  about  everything,  as  they  do  at  such 
a  time."     So  it  shaped  itself  in  the  brain  under  his  silk  hat.     But 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  477 

when  he  reached  the  door  of  Hannibal's  room  his  expression 
changed.  He  stood  stock  still  for  a  moment  and  sniffed,  and 
Nellie  behind  him  was  puzzled.  Then  he  drew  off  his  motoring 
gloves,  shot  his  cuffs,  felt  in  his  waistcoat  pocket  for  his  ther- 
mometer, and  sat  down  at  the  bedside.  He  supported  Hanni- 
bal's shoulders  with  pillows,  so  that  he  could  breathe  more  easily; 
he  took  a  stethoscope  from  his  hat  and  listened  for  a  long  time 
to  the  stertorous  chest.  He  leaned  over  to  catch  the  odour  of  his 
breath. 

"What  are  you  giving  him?"  he  asked  sharply,  swinging 
round  upon  Nellie,  who  jumped. 

"  This,"  she  said,  a  sudden  fear  gripping  her  heart,  as  she 
held  up  the  bottle  of  Fochaber's.  The  doctor  took  it,  read 
the  label,  and  without  any  apology  flung  it  with  emphasis  and 
precision  into  the  grate,  where  it  shattered. 

"  Get  a  fire  lighted  here,"  he  ordered.  "  Got  any  more  of 
that  stuff  in  the  house?  " 

She  paused  in  her  trembling  flight  and  turned  to  shake  her 
head. 

"  That  rubbish  is  poison !  "  he  said,  when  she  returned.  "  You 
must  get  me  towels  and  a  tub  of  hot  water." 

She  brought  up  the  servant  and  one  of  the  girls  to  help  her, 
and  together  they  got  the  things  needed. 

"  Hot-water  bottles,  everything  hot  in  the  house,"  he  com- 
manded. When  the  tub  came,  he  stood  the  shivering  Hannibal 
in  it,  scalding  his  thin  legs  with  the  liquid  until  they  were  fiery 
red.  Hot  towels  were  draped  over  the  young  man  as  he  sat 
there  on  the  edge  of  the  bed,  his  head  drooped  on  his  chest. 

"  Now  in  with  you !  "  said  the  doctor.  And  into  the  hot  bed 
Hannibal  was  shoved,  and  banked  high  with  blankets. 

"  It's  Lobar  Pneumonia,"  said  the  doctor  to  Nellie,  after- 
wards, "  and  I  may  be  able  to  get  him  over.  He  has  no  con- 
stitution, you  see.  If  it  gets  a  firm  hold  on  him  he'll  go  down 
like  a  pack  of  cards  " 

"  I  thought  Fochaber's  was  good  for "  she  began. 

"  It's  a  lying  swindle,"  he  returned.  "  I'd  like  to  see  every 
bottle  of  it  pitched  over  the  Mumbles  Head." 

"  But  the  advertisement "  she  protested. 

"  Pooh ! "  said  the  doctor.  "  Advertisement !  They'll  say 
anything.     You  should  have  more  sense." 


478  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 


She  looked  at  him  with  wide,  scared  eyes  and  an  expression 
on  her  face  as  though  she  was  saying,  "  Yes,  yes,  all  my  fault. 
Hit  me  hard.     It  was  my  fault."     He  looked  at  her. 

"  Get  some  one,  sister  or  some  one,  to  stay  with  you,"  he 
suggested.     "  You  understand  ?  " 

And  Mrs.  Lloyd  arrived  in  the  afternoon. 

The  crisis  came  quickly.  His  system,  never  very  vigorous, 
had  been  silently  but  definitely  undermined  by  his  sickness  in 
the  East,  his  lungs  were  full  of  coal  dust,  and  his  stomach 
deranged  by  the  opium  and  mercury  and  formaldehyde  of  that 
beneficent  proprietary,  Fochaber's  Eliminator. 

"  Good  heavens !  "  said  the  doctor  to  Mrs.  Lloyd.  "  And  they 
wanted  to  insure  his  life !  " 

"  Get  some  one  else  down,"  he  told  her  another  time.  "  You 
must  keep  her  quiet.     You  understand?  " 

And  so  Mrs.  Gooderich  Senior  left  Tedworth  Square  and 
journeyed  down  to  Swansea  again.  When  Nellie  saw  her  mother- 
in-law  safely  into  the  house,  she  retired  from  the  sick  room. 
"  Don't  you  worry  now,"  said  the  doctor.  "  He'll  be  round 
sooner  than  you  are.  He'll  soon  pick  up  when  we  have  something 
to  tell  him." 

But  to  Mrs.  Lloyd  and  Mrs.  Gooderich  Senior  he  reiterated 
his  doubts.  "  Like  a  pack  of  cards,"  lie  repeated.  "  He  has  no 
ballast  to  carry  him  through  a  thing  like  this." 

And  early  in  the  following  week,  on  a  day  when  Winter 
rushed  through  the  streets  shaking  at  the  casements  and  sending 
pieces  of  paper  high  over  the  roofs,  that  was  just  how  he  did 
go  down,  like  a  pack  of  cards.  He  lay  there  motionless,  his  eyes 
closed,  the  leaping  flames  of  the  fire  illuminating  his  face  with 
a  sudden  fugitive  and  disturbing  radiance.  He  lay  there  think- 
ing in  an  absolute  mental  calm,  looking  out  upon  the  little 
ocean  of  his  life,  its  currents  and  storms  forgotten,  merely  pon- 
dering upon  its  ultimate  utility.  What  was  the  good  of  this 
life?  he  asked,  without  rancour  or  impertinence,  of  the  silent 
Fates.  He  was  not  complaining.  He  had  had  a  good  time,  and 
the  world  was  an  astonishing  place,  well  worth  a  visit.  But 
surely  there  was  something  else.  Life  wasn't  just  a  museum, 
through  which  one  wandered,  delighted  with  the  strange  things 
all  around  one,  going  out  finally  into  the  night,  nothing  done. 
One  left  something  behind.     Where  was  he?     He  had  seen  that 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  479 

dim  ship  pass  out,  bearing  in  her  heart  his  Lost  Illusion.  One 
odd  fancy  took  him,  and  his  mother,  watching  his  face,  saw  a 
slight  creasing  of  the  cheeks  as  he  smiled,  a  fancy  that  had 
been  the  beginning  of  the  end.  He  was  going  piece  by  piece. 
Here  he  was  lying  quite  peacefully  on  his  back,  and  Nellie  was 
—  ah !  that  was  hard  lines.  Would  he  not  see  her  again  ?  They 
had  got  on  so  well  for  their  short  time.  She  loved  him,  looked 
after  him,  understood  that  idea  of  his  that  already  floated  away. 
After  all,  he  was  not  cut  out  for  practical  business,  not  cut 
out  .  .  . 

He  became  aware  of  a  subdued  murmur  near  him,  near  the 
door.  Some  one  was  bending  over  him,  touching  his  hands. 
He  heard  his  mother  speaking  in  his  ear,  and  then  quite  sud- 
denly, and  almost  unreasonably,  he  found  himself  smiling  and 
feeling  glad.  Good!  A  boy!  Lummy!  The  murmur  subsided 
and  quiet  reigned,  broken  only  by  the  distant  noise  of  the  trams 
and  the  crackling  of  the  fire.  Was  this  the  reason,  then?  An- 
other piece  broken  away.  Soon  he  would  be  ready  to  go  out 
on  his  own  quiet  adventure.  That  was  how  he  had  grown  to 
look  at  it.  Here  in  this  life,  you  were  up  against  hard  practical 
efficient  people  and  things,  with  occasional  exasperating  glimpses 
into  another  world.  No  use  grumbling;  while  you  were  here 
you  had  to  fall  in  line.  His  mistake  had  been  that  he  had  tried 
to  live  in  both  worlds  at  once.  No  good.  But  now,  out  there 
alone?     He  would  see. 

Sometimes,  during  that  evening,  he  grieved  quietly  for  the 
absence  of  Nellie,  who  had  been  so  benign  a  pillow  when  he 
was  in  danger  of  suffering  from  the  ceaseless  indurations  of 
business.  And  from  that  he  slipped  into  a  renewed  conscious- 
ness of  this  obscure  joy,  this  scarce-won  fatherhood,  seeing  it 
as  a  great  light  afar  off,  swinging  dizzily  in  space,  a  light  on  the 
coast  he  was  leaving  behind.  Little  by  little  the  light  grew 
dim,  his  hold  on  reality  slackened,  and  he  babbled  of  nameless 
things  —  things  that  had  lain  in  the  depths  of  his  mind  for  long 
years,  words  that  were  like  empty  shells  of  long-dead  ideas. 
Forgotten  baby  talk,  like  strings  of  feathery  weed,  fluttered 
from  his  lips  and  troubled  the  scarcely-comprehending  solicitude 
of  his  mother.  And  sometimes  he  wept,  feeling  lost  in  the  dark. 
"  Sealed  orders,"  he  would  murmur.  "  Going  out  with  scaled 
orders."     And  then  "  Pieces  of  eight !  "     She  wished  she  could 


480  CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA 

help  him,  but  he  had  always  been  such  a  tranquil  child,  thought- 
ful too,  and  secretive.  She  sat  at  his  bedside,  an  anxious  woman 
verging  upon  old  age.  And  he  was  dying,  her  son  was  dying. 
I  doubt  very  much  if  she  realised  it. 

She  had  never  seen  any  one  die.  When  her  husband  had  been 
carried  home,  the  melodramatic  trappings  of  his  transition  had 
covered  like  a  gorgeous  pall  the  central  sordid  fact.  So,  too, 
with  Bert,  who  had  died  with  eclat,  six  thousand  miles  away, 
leaving  behind  for  her  memory  to  feed  on  not  even  a  body  or  a 
funeral,  only  a  blue  War  Office  form  and  a  misspelt  name  in  a 
newspaper.  She  knew  these  things  as  she  knew  of  events  in  a 
book.  Here  was  a  son  dying  before  her  eyes.  Already  he  had 
gone  off  to  the  buoys,  and  in  a  little  while  he  would  go  over  the 
bar.     She  did  not  realise  it. 

I  don't  suppose  Mrs.  Gooderich  Senior  changed  much  after 
this  experience.  She  was  now  "  set,"  as  she  said.  Her  blue 
eyes  were  no  longer  the  dark  blue  of  the  days  when  the  brisk 
young  baker's  man  touched  her  rustic  heart.  Her  blue  eyes 
were  nearer  green  now,  flecked  with  grey,  and  regarding  you 
equably  from  a  region  of  peace,  a  sort  of  neutral  ground  com- 
mon to  great  sinners,  great  saints,  and  great  sufferers.  It  is 
really,  only  we  are  loath  to  give  it  its  right  name,  a  species  of 
ennui.  A  human  soul  is  limited.  It  grows  unresponsive  after 
a  certain  number  of  excitations,  and  we  call  it  peace,  whereas 
it  is  really  fatigue,  a  kind  of  hysteresis.  Mrs.  Gooderich  had 
suffered,  and  her  mind  could  respond  no  more.  She  could  not 
transmute  her  sorrow  into  exquisite  art,  nor  could  she  share 
the  finer  ecstasies  of  the  Church.  She  felt  that,  after  all,  com- 
fort and  freedom  from  money  trouble  were  the  cardinal  things 
of  life,  and  even  the  spectacle  of  her  son  dying  did  not  disturb 
this  conviction.  He  belonged,  moreover,  to  another  woman.  She 
had  not  understood  that  wild  breakaway  when  he  went  to  sea. 
Why  should  he  want  to  go  to  sea?  His  Uncle  George  had  dis- 
approved. Was  Amelia  married  now,  she  wondered.  She  had 
heard  that  she  was  walking  out  with  a  water  clerk,  whom  she 
had  met  in  Billiter  Lane.  .  .  . 

She  was  lost  in  a  maze  of  conjectures,  this  woman  verging  on 
old  age,  when  she  noticed  the  thin  hand  on  the  coverlet  making 
a  gesture  of  throwing  something  away. 

"  What  is  it,  dear?  "  she  whispered. 

"  Cast  off,  cast  off,"   he   muttered.     "  Sealed  orders."     And 


CASUALS  OF  THE  SEA  481 

while  she  was  wondering  if  she  had  not  better  call  some  one,  he 
smiled  and  went  out  into  the  night. 

It  is  spring  again  in  Abertawe,  and  the  white  clouds  flit  mer- 
rily across  the  blue  sky  over  the  white-lipped  waters  of  the 
Bay.  There  is  a  joyous  bluster  in  the  wind  that  races  around 
past  Oystermouth,  and  rustles  in  the  trees  up  Sketty  way,  whis- 
pering "  Youth !  Youth !  "  All  the  world  is  green  and  glorious 
upon  the  hillsides,  and  in  the  lanes  lovers  are  walking  to  and  fro. 
And  in  the  "  Stormy  Petrel,"  as  I  see  it  in  my  minds  eye,  there 
is  that  incomparable  woman  in  rich  black,  and  all  the  prettier 
in  the  neat  widow's  cap,  superintending  with  unremitting  care 
the  red  fragment  of  humanity  in  the  cradle  and  the  business  he 
will  some  day  inherit.  I  sit  and  see  it,  in  my  mind's  eye,  and 
think.     It  is  an  excellent  business. 

Mrs.  Gooderich  Senior  is  gone  back  long  ago  to  the  comfort 
of  Tedworth  Square.  I  think  it  was  Fochaber's  upon  which 
they  differed  chiefly,  for  Mrs.  Gooderich  Senior,  having  heard 
of  it  at  first  hand,  would  believe  no  ill  of  Fochaber's.  Be  that 
as  it  may,  she  is  gone  back  to  London,  to  the  discreet  household 
in  Tedworth  Square.  There  she  is,  it  is  true,  somewhat  a 
cypher,  save  when  Captain  Briscoe  comes  home  for  a  week-end. 
She  and  he  are  united  in  admiration  of  the  astonishing  money 
to  be  earned  by  writing  advertisements.  Sometimes  Mrs.  Wil- 
fley,  occupied  upon  a  new  book  entitled  The  Souteneur,  will  call, 
ineffably  affable,  and  talking  heart  to  heart  will  tell  Mrs.  Goode- 
rich some  of  her  spiritual  divagations.  And  Anthony  Gilfillan 
is  a  fine  boy.  It  will  not  be  long  before  Tedworth  Square  for- 
gets the  "  Stormy  Petrel "  and  the  pretty  widow  who  visits  a 
grave  out  at  Port  Tennant  Cemetery  every  Sunday. 

But  for  me,  I  have  not  forgotten,  and  I  think  that  when  the 
spring  is  vet  a  little  more  advanced,  I  shall  run  down  to  Abertawe. 
I  should  like  to  make  sure  that  Nellie,  in  spite  of  what  she  says, 
has  really  given  up  all  idea  of  marrying  again. 


THE   IND 


THE  COUNTRY  LIFE  PRESS 
GARDEN  CITY,  N.  Y. 


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